


Ascension Day

by MmmYellowFlickerBeat



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: And fuck Skaikru honestly, Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Fuck this show, Groundhog Day, Temporary Character Deaths, fuck jroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmmYellowFlickerBeat/pseuds/MmmYellowFlickerBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the world falls apart, Clarke must figure out what went wrong on Ascension Day. A GroundhogDay!Canon Divergence fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some liberties taken with established canon 3.07 events. I honestly can't be bothered with watching it again, so forgive any inconsistencies (I already know there are several). This is the product of pure trash and salt.

The steady beat of hooves against the ground and the gentle rock of the saddle were all that was keeping Clarke grounded to the world around her. Everything else was falling apart. She had a mission—the most important responsibility she’d ever been given—and she could barely focus on anything other than the tiny box she had tucked away beneath her shirt.

It became a ritual: Clarke would remove the tiny container and open it, an irresistible urge to see the flame inside with her own eyes. She was fortunate that the commander’s former horse was smart enough to navigate the forest on its own with minimal help.

Each time she saw the flame, the knowledge that Lexa’s soul was tucked away safety against Clarke’s own heart did little to dull the all encompassing ache of her death. At first, knowing that Lexa still existed in some form, that her legacy wasn’t yet completely lost, had been a source of mild comfort. As the hours wore on, and the dark storm clouds gathered in the sky above Clarke’s head, those thoughts no longer brought her any relief. The warmth that used to course through her veins every time she thought about Lexa was replaced by a numbing chill.

It was hard to imagine what being hopeful felt like. Whatever happy ending she’d once allowed herself to envision—her people thriving, the grounders at peace, maybe even finding a permanent home in Polis as Skaikru’s ambassador—was dashed the moment Lexa’s eyes closed for the last time. The living, breathing, charismatic commander who Clarke had always considered her to be something akin to immortal was no more. In one fateful day, her entire legacy was already on its way to being destroyed.

The overwhelming pain she’d suppressed since her death came rushing back at once. She’d shed tears at intervals ever since she rode out from the Polis gates, but now they fell in earnest. She had to stop her horse when her entire body started to shake and she could no longer ride safely.

The sky seemed to be in mourning too. Dark storm clouds had rolled in quickly after Clarke’s departure, swirling menacingly overhead. By the time the torrential downpour started, Clarke had to squint to see a cave through the heavy sheets of rain. Clarke’s own comfort didn’t matter  to her much—warmth and dryness wouldn’t dull the kind of aches she had—but she didn’t want to subject her horse to the bitter elements.

She tied up the horse near the cave’s entrance, and made her camp for the night. Her hands warmed by the fire, and the only moisture inside were the tears soaking her cheeks, which continued to spill long after the sobs finished wracking her body. The low roll of thunder was the only thing left that grounded her to the outside world.

 _Lexa was gone_ , Clarke repeated to herself in despair.

She’d watched the red smoke rise from her burning body atop the Polis tower, signaling to the clans the fall of their commander. Aden and the rest of her beloved nightbloods were gone. Ontari was wasting no time in destroying everything good that Lexa had painstakingly built. With her at the helm, the coalition would fall within the week, and her people would be on the edge of annihilation.

With Lexa around, the world’s problems seemed manageable. Without her, the entire situation now felt hopeless. Even after her three months of self-imposed exile, Clarke had never felt more alone than she did now.

She knew she had to return to Arkadia to enlist Lincoln’s help locating the elusive Luna. She had to penetrate a blockade, both to enter the Ark and to leave it, and even while she was on the inside, the Ark wouldn’t be safe. She certainly couldn’t count on Bellamy’s loyalty, and Pike’s support ran deep. And now that Clarke carried the fate of all future grounder commanders within her hands? She’d probably be executed, and the flame destroyed out of spite.

Clarke retrieved Lexa’s red sash from her pack. Though she wore the commander’s armor as the newly appointed flamekeeper, it somehow felt sacrilegious to wear her sash while traveling. In the privacy of the cave, with the thunder rolling lowly and the rain spilling from the rocky ledge at its opening, she wrapped herself inside it, lying down by the fire. It still smelled faintly like Lexa, Clarke realized, and the realization brought another round of burning to her eyes.

She pulled the container out from where it rested beneath her shirt, unable to resist the urge to open it once again.

Here, surrounded by the commander’s things, with her soul in her hands and favorite horse standing nearby, was probably the closest Clarke would ever feel to Lexa again. On an impulse, she gently stroked the side of the chip, which was now her most prized possession in the world.

To Clarke, Lexa had been so much more than a commander. She’d known the amazing young woman beneath the armor.

She had no idea if Lexa would hear anything she said, or if her soul had awareness through the chip. Clarke had left so many things unsaid between them, and if there was even a minuscule chance that Lexa was really in there and could hear her, she had to let her know. The guilt and despair were suffocating.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix you,” Clarke whispered with trembling voice, as if Lexa could hear her plain as day.

The chip remained dark and asleep, as it had been since Titus powered it down. The fire crackled nearby, barely audible over the pattering of rain outside, and she took a deep breath, collecting herself.

“I’m sorry for what my people did to yours,” she continued, finding more resolve, “and I’m sorry that I expected more from you than I ever did from them. It wasn’t fair to you.” She swallowed thickly. “None of it was fair.”

She’d given into her feelings one moment to have her heart ripped wide open the next. That wound would never heal completely, and the pain from losing her would remain until Clarke’s dying day. Lexa understood her on such a fundamental level. How was she supposed to find that again in the shambles that was left of their world?

Clarke had been trying to deny how strong their connection was for a long time, unwilling to admit it to herself. Not Lexa though.

Since they’d been reunited in Polis, the commander had been an open book, and when faced with the possibility of a permanent separation, Lexa nearly admitted everything. “I love you,” had been on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained from voicing it aloud. The stumble hadn’t escaped Clarke (though she didn’t mention it), and they basked together in their newly realized feelings for their last hour together. Clarke never once told her, in as many words.

Even if Lexa’s admission had been uttered aloud, Clarke wouldn’t have said it back. The timing hadn’t been right. Now, there was no time left for them, and it made her sick.

Lexa would never know. All Clarke had now was the tiny remnant of Lexa in her hands, and even that would be lost to her in a few days once she found Luna.

“I should have told you,” Clarke whispered again, guilty tears threatening to spill again. Her fingers shook as she removed the chip from the box, setting it aside so she could grasp it with both hands. “I lov—”

A powerful jolt singed Clarke’s fingers and she winced, reflexively jerking her fingers away. The chip tumbled into the folds of Lexa’s sash. It glowed brightly for a moment, brighter than Clarke had ever seen or imagined. Seconds later, it began to flicker until it went completely dark again.

She picked up warily, unsure of what triggered the reaction or even what had happened. Her heart dropped like a weight in her chest when she examined the chip. The chip had short-circuited, and the resulting surge of power had blown apart the delicate inside. There were charred markings over the edges, and the back was a giant scorch mark.

“No, no, no…” Clarke pleaded to nobody in particular.

This couldn’t be happening. The flame was the grounders’ entire legacy. _More importantly_ , Clarke thought selfishly, _it was all that was left of Lexa._

And now it was gone.

“Please, no,” her voice cracked.

She scurried to find Titus’ book, throwing it open and violently flipping through the pages to try and find something _—anything_ —that would help. Her pulse started racing, and her breaths turned into panicked gasps. She flipped the pages as quickly as she could with her trembling fingers, finding nothing inside about repairing the chip.

Clarke slammed the book shut and threw it as hard as she could against the rocky walls of the cave before collapsing into a heap on the sash. She’d failed Lexa during her life, allowing her to die on her behalf, and now she’d failed her in death. Luna would never ascend, and Lexa’s legacy of peace would never be realized.

Clarke sobbed until the tears soaked the sash beneath her and her body ached. Many hours later, after the storm had passed and the stars sparkled brightly in the sky, Clarke drifted into unconsciousness wishing the earth would simply open up and swallow her whole, putting her out of her misery once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

A bird chirping merrily outside startled Clarke from her sleep, but she kept her eyes squinted closed. The morning sun burned so brightly that the light filtered in through her eyelids. She went to stretch her limbs but paused in the middle of the movement.

The material covering her was too thick and soft to be the sash she’d fallen asleep under, and the surface beneath her wasn’t the hard rocky floor of the cave. Clarke snapped her eyes open, starting to hyperventilate again.

She was back in Polis.

Lying in the same place that she’d watch Lexa draw her last breath.

The thought was enough for Clarke to jump out of the bed to escape. She knew they’d eventually change the sheets and the furs, but the memories still burned fresh in her mind.

How had she gotten back to Polis? She’d been utterly spent by the time she’d finally fallen asleep. It had been a long time since she’d felt so physically exhausted, but Clarke supposed it wasn’t unreasonable to believe that someone  found her and brought her back to the capital. But who?

She tried to suppress the thought that someone else must have also changed her into her nightgown while she slept. Clarke only hoped the tower’s handmaidens were responsible; they’d already seen everything she had to offer (as if she had any shred of self-consciousness left after her first encounter with them after her three months of exile).

The arrangement of the room was too perfectly reminiscent of how it had been before she left, like no time had passed at all. She went to the window overlooking the city, and watched the people below.

Carts and vendors filled the streets, overflowing with cheerful activity. She turned her head away in disgust. She’d witnessed how much they loved Lexa during her fight with Roan. Now Lexa’s ashes hadn’t even cooled, and they acted as if nothing had happened, even pleased that a deranged despot had just hijacked the position from her rightful successor.

She hurried to the closet to retrieve the one outfit she knew was waiting there for her. After throwing on the long sweater and pants, she desperately searched for the broken chip and the rest of the commander’s belongings she’d taken on her journey. Clarke turned the room upside down, but they were nowhere to be found.

Then another unsettling possibility settled in her gut: Titus had made her the flamekeeper, and she’d known there would be people hunting her once they discovered she’d replaced him.

If Ontari’s supporters had stolen the flame back and could repair it, she might be held hostage until she could perform the Ascension ceremony. The thought of Ontari with the flame—and the terrors she’d commit with it—caused her stomach to turn.

Clarke approached her bedroom door and cautiously stuck her head outside, keeping her knife clenched tightly in her hands for protection. There was only one guard station outside her room. He seemed vaguely familiar, though Clarke had never paid him much attention before. He also didn’t look altogether bothered when she took a step outside, so she pressed her luck and confronted him.

His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise, and Clarke could see his mouth twitch behind his bushy beard. He wasn’t used to his most important charges speaking to him. “Wanheda,” he greeted with a cordial bow of his head. He didn’t make a move to stop her.

Clarke acknowledged him with a quick nod. “Am I… allowed to leave?” She glanced around awkwardly to either side of the hallway, but it remained suspiciously empty.

His cocked his head to the side, apparently confused by her question. “Of course,” he said, as it were obvious. “This tower is not a prison, least of all for you.”

“Were you guarding my room the entire night?”

“I was.”

“Did you see who brought me here?”

The guard’s brows furrowed deeply. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Wanheda.”

Clarke felt her frustration brewing, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she tried to keep her expression as kind as possible. “Look…What’s your name?”

He straightened his posture, and answered importantly: “Ai laik Enar kom Trikru.”

There was a way for Clarke to quickly get to the bottom of this matter, but she knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. As flamekeeper, she was indispensable to the commander, so Ontari wouldn’t dare to kill her—at least not yet. As long as Clarke was the only one able to perform the Ascension ritual, she would remain safe.

If the chip was recoverable—and Clarke fiercely hoped that it was—she needed to take Ontari out so that a worthy successor, like Luna, could take Lexa’s place.

“Enar, where is the commander?” Clarke asked innocently.

“In her throne room. There is much business for her to attend to today.”

 _I’m sure there is_ , Clarke thought, imagining all the sinister plans Ontari was brewing that involved tearing apart the coalition and favoring her own clan. If Clarke let her have her way, Skaikru would be obliterated, Azgeda would head the coalition, and she’d have the rest of the clans tearing each other apart within the month.

She didn’t dare say any of this aloud. “Thank you,” she offered instead.

Clarke traversed the familiar walkways in the tower, coming to a full stop before the doors of the throne room. She adjusted her knife so that it was easily reachable but well hidden from view. Ontari was unstable; there was no telling how she’d react to a confrontation, and if she needed a weapon, she wanted it readily available.

She took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles hard against the door. The guards on the inside swung them open shortly after. Sunlight poured into the walkway, and Clarke squinted just to see inside the room.

She took one step forward and froze, and for a long, agonizing moment, her heart stood still. She forgot how to breath until her chest ached in protest, and then a tiny gasp slipped was all that slipped from her mouth.

“Lexa?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s muscles were leaden weights as she took in the sight of Lexa, the real breathing person, seated on her throne. The nightbloods perched themselves on the steps at her feet, hanging onto her every word with rapt attention as she lectured them.

It was more than déjà vu. It was like Clarke’s memory had come back to life.

When Lexa’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, she offered Clarke a tiny smirk from across the room. The sight warmed her from the inside and broke her trance. Clarke’s feet started moving without a conscious thought with long, purposeful strides. Her eyes were blazing, and her face was set in a hard expression like she was marching into battle.

Lexa clearly hadn’t expected the reaction. She rose from her throne and took a few hesitant steps forward, concern etched in her features. “Clarke? Is something wr—”

Her words cut off as Clarke threw her arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a vice-like embrace. Clarke buried her face into Lexa’s neck and breathed her in. The feel and smell of her were so familiar, and it made Clarke squeeze her all the harder. If it caused Lexa any discomfort, she didn’t show it. Her body went slack, and she slowly wound her arms around Clarke’s back to hold her in place.

If this was a dream, Clarke wasn’t complaining. She would live this dream a thousand times if it meant she could see, hear, and touch Lexa again.

If it wasn’t a dream—and even Clarke’s mind had trouble explaining all the exquisite detail overwhelming her senses—she couldn’t fathom how it was possible, but she would gladly accept the gift of Lexa being alive and in her arms again.

“I missed you,” Clarke whispered into Lexa’s ear.

Lexa cleared her throat and backed away slowly, much to Clarke’s disappointment.

When they separated, a few giggles broke out from the nightbloods, who were still paying close attention to their Heda. Lexa shot them all a threatening glare, shutting them up at once, though she couldn’t stop the furious blush that ran up her neck and colored her cheeks bright red.

Another step back put them at a more comfortable distance between each other. Lexa looked toward the ground, flustered. Her chest heaved as she took several deep breaths to collect herself.

“It’s been less than twelve hours, Clarke.”

Clarke stared at her dumbly.

“We were learning all about Ascension Day before you…” Lexa paused and her smirk returned, making Clarke’s knees weak. “After the ceremony, there is going to be a celebration in the square later today, if you would like to join me.”

Clarke glanced around, unable to speak. Aden—bright-eyed, with his blonde head still attached to the rest of his body—grinned at her knowingly.

“I—”

The doors slammed open yet again, and another familiar group entered the throne room. Titus, and the Polis guard came inside first, announcing the interruption of the ceremony to hear the urgent grievances from a Trikru village. Clarke’s eyes widened when she saw Octavia, bound and gagged, being dragged inside by Semet.

He was yet another dead person brought back to life, and Octavia was again captive in Polis. None of them seemed suspicious of the fact that this same sequence of events had happened before. It was Ascension Day repeated all over again, and Clarke seemed to be the only one aware of it. Not even Titus acted as if anything was amiss as he took his place next to Lexa’s throne.

The sight of him standing next to Lexa after what he’d done soured like bile in the back of Clarke’s throat. She clenched her fists but said nothing.

As expected, Semet had come demanding revenge on Skaikru after they’d attacked his village. They all took their places, Lexa at her throne sitting several feet above the others, but the arguments during the impromptu meeting remained the same as they’d been before. Clarke watched all of it unfold before her with wide eyes.

None of the news was a shock to her. She already knew the facts because she’d heard them all before. So instead of listening to the debate, she preoccupied herself with trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.

She had little success.

Yet as Semet prattled on, the _how’s_ and _why’s_ of Clarke’s predicament didn’t seem to matter as much. The thought that kept wrestling its way to the forefront of her mind was that this was a second chance. Clarke couldn’t save Lexa the last time, but she damned sure wasn’t going to let her die again.

“Today I call upon the armies of the twelve clans to march on Arkadia,” Lexa said after some deliberation. Predictably, she was holding steadfast to the more peaceful mantra she’d adopted since expanding the coalition. “Not to attack, but to contain. We will blockade the thirteenth Clan. We will keep them from the lands they wish to possess. We will give them time to take out their leaders from within. Once they rise up against them, then we will welcome them back as one of us.”

Clarke could see Semet seething beneath his beard. His limbs were tensing, preparing for an attack.

Lexa continued, oblivious to the man’s plan. “Any Skaikru across the line will be subject to a kill order.”

As Clarke had feared and expected, Semet sprung forward in retaliation, weapon drawn and ready to strike. Clarke clutched her chair’s armrests tightly, but just as before, Titus had him dispatched in seconds. She let out the breath she was holding as her heart rate returned to normal.

Lexa was still alive.

Clarke still wasn’t going to forgive the flamekeeper for what he did—what he _would_ do—later.

She settled into the day’s familiar pattern quickly, exchanging a few words with Lexa, and ultimately following Octavia back to her quarters to have their inevitable argument. Octavia would fault her staying in Polis _again_ , she’d remind Clarke much her people needed her back at Arkadia _again_ , and she’d reprimand her for trusting Lexa _again_.

She eyed the spot where she’d found Murphy beaten and tied up, finding the space notably bare. Sometime after Clarke left, Titus would bring him in and wait for Clarke’s return, and she’d be ready when he did.

“No wonder you wanted to stay,” Octavia muttered sarcastically, taking in the view of Clarke’s room.

Clarke didn’t respond to the jibe this time. She fixed Octavia with a hard stare as she hopped up on the desk and buried her face in her palm.

“I saw Indra in the crowd,” Octavia’s tone grew more serious. “Why wasn’t she with Lexa?”

“Indra’s not doing so well, Octavia. We can’t deal with that right now” _Déjà vu_ , Clarke thought again.

Octavia hopped from her seat and stepped toward Clarke. “So, what do we do?”

There was no reason to draw this out any longer than necessary. Octavia was stubborn, Lexa was politically backed against a wall, and Clarke already knew that neither side was going to budge. Her original promise— _I’ll talk to Lexa and see what I can do—_ was a fruitless endeavor. The barricade was the most lenient stance Lexa could take and not risk open revolt from the clans.

“After everything that’s happened, the clans want to destroy Arkadia. They don’t want to settle for anything less than a full on assault,” Clarke said without preamble. Octavia opened her mouth to argue, but Clarke cut her off. “Right now, Lexa’s the only one standing in their way. She’s doing the best that she can. She wants this alliance to work, but she knows that for that to happen, she has to play her cards carefully. Right now, the barricade is the best option we can hope for.”

Octavia shook her head in disbelief, a sardonic smile playing at her lips. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still defending her?” Her words were laced with bitterness.

“Trust me Octavia,” Clarke sighed heavily. In some ways, it was like trying to reason with a child, and she remembered that despite Octavia’s courage, she was still very young. “If you knew what kind of hell would come crashing down on Skaikru the moment Lexa’s no longer the commander, you’d be defending her too. Azgeda has been secretly grooming her prospective replacement, and I’m not exaggerating when I say she is the most insane person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Even worse than Cage. Our people _need_ Lexa to stay in charge.”

Octavia paused to consider this for a moment. Clarke suspected she’d heard Lincoln’s stories about the man from his time in captivity at Mount Weather. Only a special breed of sadist could do what he did with the reapers. “Huh,” Octavia scoffed, and Clarke was relieved to hear the subtle shift in her tone. “That bad, huh?”

Clarke vividly recalled Ontari decapitating the rest of the nightbloods in their sleep and prancing around the throne room triumphantly, tarnishing all the honor Clarke had come to associate with position of Heda. The one thing she and Titus had ever seemingly agreed upon was that she was unfit for the position.

“She’s completely mental,” Clarke confirmed, pulling a disgusted face.

Octavia considered her for a moment with narrowed eyes, stepping closer to Clarke. The blonde cringed, preparing herself for another asinine round of quarreling. The distrust between Octavia and Lexa had never been a secret. However, she was pleasantly surprised when all the fight left Octavia’s expression and she nodded like she was ready to take orders.

“Fine. So then what now?” she asked.

Clarke let out a giant sigh of relief. “You’re going to find Indra. The two of you have horses ready at the Polis gates in an hour. We’re going to get back to Arkadia before the blockade is set up, and we’re going to take out Pike and his crew. Murphy and I will meet you there.”

“Wait—Murphy?” Octavia scowled, and Clarke wanted to kick herself for letting that detail slide. They hadn’t seen Murphy in months. Nobody (including Clarke) was supposed to know he was in Polis yet. “Why the hell is _Murphy_ here?”

“It’s a long story,” Clarke evaded. “I’ll explain it to you after we leave. We’ll have plenty of time on the ride back.” She extended her hand toward Octavia as a peace offering. “So what do you say? Deal?”

Octavia hesitated for a moment, eventually grasping Clarke’s forearm, giving it a slight squeeze. “Sure… It’s a deal. Don’t be late, Clarke.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

An hour hadn’t seemed long enough the first go around, and Clarke doubted it would feel long enough this time around either.

She would’ve liked to have told Octavia to meet her at the gates after nightfall, after Clarke had a chance to more thoroughly say her goodbyes. But they had to beat the grounder blockade back to Arkadia if they wanted the chance to take Pike out without escalating the two sides into war.

Not to mention, Clarke had to wait for Murphy to arrive to her room so she could rescue him. After he’d comforted Clarke in the wake of Lexa’s death, she felt a sense of responsibility toward him, even though she still didn’t personally like him. Titus had already battered and broken him nearly past the point of recognition. Clarke wasn’t going to abandon Murphy to certain death at his hands.

The path to Lexa’s bedchamber was familiar, and Clarke found her anticipation growing with what she knew—or at least tacitly hoped—would follow.

Her excitement was momentarily doused when she ran across Titus on the way, which hadn’t happened the last time. He wasn’t pleased to see her, which wasn’t surprising—Clarke knew he hated her and wanted her gone—but he was even more affronted than usual since she was obviously headed to see Lexa on a personal matter. There was no other reason for Clarke to be visiting Lexa in her room uninvited.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Wanheda?” Clarke didn’t miss the warning tone in his voice, and it took every ounce of her self-restraint not to give him a smartassed response.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she dismissed him curtly.

As Clarke stepped around him, she was surprised to see Enar following at a distance behind him. The guard nodded politely at her again before following Titus out of the corridor.

Clarke invited herself into Lexa’s room as she always did, knowing exactly where to find her. She’d already seen how breathtaking Lexa looked, with her face fresh and her hair flowing loosely over her shoulder, but Clarke still did a double-take, unable to control the fluttering inside her chest.

“When do you leave?” Lexa asked, her voice small.

It clawed at Clarke’s insides, hearing how resigned she was to their separation. She’d heard it the first time too, but after they’d laid their feelings bare to each other, the separation was harder. Now Clarke understood why Lexa held her declaration of love back the first time.

She also remembered that _this_ Lexa believed her feelings weren’t reciprocated. At least not fully.

It wasn’t her fault; Clarke admittedly hadn’t shown her anything to the contrary before she’d run out of time. She was determined to fix that this time. After she left, there would be no doubt in Lexa’s mind how strongly she felt, whether she said it in as many words or not. Once she saved Lexa from her fate and straightened out the mess her people had made, she would come back, and nothing would keep her away from Polis then—from her _home_.

“In an hour,” Clarke answered. Hurt flashed across Lexa’s features, which she covered quickly. It pained Clarke to watch. “Lexa, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry, Clarke. They’re your people.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” Clarke shook her head. She was deviating from the script she’d already played out before, and it was thrilling.

“Oh?”

She approached Lexa, not stopping until she was well within her personal space. The commander’s cheeks flushed and her lips parted, eyes darting down to gaze at Clarke’s mouth. The inevitable dance that would eventually play out was on both of their minds, but only Clarke could take comfort in the fact that it had already happened before.

The memories caused an ache between her legs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Clarke’s words came out breathier than she intended. Even so, there was a brief moment where Lexa stared at her with wide, puzzled eyes.

“Tell me what?”

As Clarke stepped forward, she could see Lexa’s tension mount, not knowing where the sudden determination in her eyes was coming from. But as soon as Clarke rocked upward, pressing their lips together, Lexa completely melted against her. She let their first kiss linger, enjoying the familiar softness of Lexa’s lips. It was a heady feeling she didn’t think she’d get to enjoy again.

When they separated from the lazy kiss, both of them were inexplicably breathing hard. Their foreheads pressed together, and Lexa’s hands rested on Clarke’s waist, eyelids hooded and heavy. When their eyes met, Clarke could see a tear starting to gather at the corner of her eye.

Clarke remembered the sad sort of desperation that had marred their first time together. They’d be separated until the political firestorm passed, and there was no telling how long that would take. Their bittersweet parting could have easily been construed as a forever kind of goodbye.

“I’m ready now,” Clarke breathed out in a whisper, clarifying the words she’d told Lexa after their first kiss months ago. Her voice grew stronger. “And I _will_ come back.”

Something unfathomable burned behind Lexa’s eyes. Clarke could tell she couldn’t believe the words she was hearing, but all the same, the promise was unmistakable. After a moment, the tear streaked a path down Lexa’s cheek, yet she was no longer sad and lost. If Clarke wasn’t mistaken, the expression she saw was pure, unadulterated _joy_. For a moment, it felt like she was floating.

She surged forward again, and this time, Lexa eagerly met her halfway. Their kisses turned intense and messy, desperate, with hands searching each other everywhere. Clarke reacquainted herself with the body she thought she’d lost forever, and Lexa learned Clarke’s body for the first time. When Lexa’s tongue coaxed Clarke’s mouth open and caressed her for the first time, stars burst behind her eyelids.

Their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. It was everything, and yet somehow, Clarke needed more contact.

The barrier of their clothing was suddenly frustrating. She reached blindly for the tie at the back of Lexa’s shirt and yanked it free. It took several attempts to blindly peel Lexa’s shirt off—her hands were so single-mindedly touching that Clarke had a hard time maneuvering her out of it—and Clarke’s own sweater followed not long after. Her skin felt like it was on fire despite exposure to the cool air.

Clarke wasn’t sure if she’d pushed Lexa to the bed or if Lexa had pulled her, though it didn’t really matter. The back of Lexa’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, and she sat down immediately, gazing up at Clarke like she was the only person worth looking at in the world. Her face had an ethereal glow as the light filtered through the window and landed upon her at just the right angle.

It was an offering. Every bit of Lexa’s heart she had to give, laid bare for Clarke to see—for her to take, if she wanted. Her mouth went dry. How had she resisted for so long?

Clarke surged forward onto the bed, pressing Lexa into the mattress beneath them with her body. She pawed at Lexa’s clothes clumsily, and together they removed their last vestiges of clothing as quickly as possible, tossing them to the ground, not caring at all where they landed. Lexa pulled Clarke back against her body and marveled at the feel of their bare skin against each other. Their legs tangled together effortlessly, and the fleeting contact from Lexa’s thigh was enough to drive Clarke wild with anticipation.

Clarke kissed everywhere she could reach, and the places she couldn’t touch with her mouth, she caressed with her hands. Lexa’s back arched up off the bed as her lips grazed her neck, trailing down to her collarbones, then to her breasts. Clarke teased her, taking her time to run her tongue and teeth roughly over each nipple, and Lexa let out the neediest gasp she’d ever heard, her body starting to shudder and writhe in search of release.

If Clarke hadn’t been on a strict timeline, she wouldn’t have obliged so easily. Her mouth continued its trail downward, across her flat stomach, and she paused after pressing sloppy kisses against each of Lexa’s hipbones.

She glanced back up to the head of the bed. Lexa’s chest was heaving, and her head was thrown back, lost somewhere between bliss and agony. She said something, a long sentence in hurried Trigedasleng that Clarke didn’t understand, and after a moment, followed with a different word, something she did recognize. “Beja, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded and settled between Lexa’s legs and pressed a kiss against her inner thigh. Lexa bit her lip and shut her eyes tightly, trying to hold back a whimper. Clarke sunk her tongue into Lexa, tasting her arousal. The reaction was immediate; Lexa’s whole body jerked, and her hips pushed up from the bed, aching for more contact.

Clarke searches out for Lexa’s hand, which is clutching desperately at the furs beneath her. Their fingers linked together easily. Clarke gave her hand a reassuring squeeze while Lexa seemed to be hanging on for her life.

Lexa was so worked up that it didn’t take long. After maybe minute or two of Clarke’s licking and sucking, she was panting and hurdling quickly toward a steep precipice. Her rhythmic gasps started to transform into Clarke’s name, which only propelled her further.

Clarke could sense she was close, and when Lexa’s breath caught in her throat, her thighs squeezed against Clarke’s head, and her grip on their hands tightened, Clarke knew just how to push her over the edge.

Despite Lexa’s attempts to remain silent, she came completely undone with a low pitched moan and Clarke’s name falling loudly from her mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The soreness wouldn’t set in for at least a few hours, but Clarke had never felt so simultaneously sated and exhausted in her entire life. Her breathing was only finally returning to normal, and her body was still buzzing from the aftershocks of her own orgasm.

Lexa’s fingers were magical, she’d decided.

Unlike the last time they’d fallen into bed together, they hadn’t taken a single break. The tenor of their exchanges had even been more frenzied, more urgent. Less… _sad_. Perhaps it had been Clarke’s promise for a future return.

Her original hopes of a “maybe someday” when they had no further responsibilities to their people had all been a pipe dream. That didn’t have to stop them from finding peace in each other during the moments in between their obligations. Clarke was planning on coming back to Polis the first chance she got.

She rolled onto her side, taking in the view of Lexa before her. Her gentle curls were splayed out behind her on the pillow. Clarke trailed a finger down her spine, examining her tattoo once again and the circles honoring the other novitiates from her conclave. The last novitiate had been Luna, Clarke had since learned. She’d once wondered what Luna was like but now hoped that she never had reason to meet her.

Lexa let out a low hum of approval at the gentle touch and nestled further into her pillow. Clarke watched her and smiled fondly. Her spirits only dampened when she realized that her hour was nearly up.

She had to keep Lexa safe, and to keep Lexa safe, she couldn’t be anywhere near Titus when he attacked Clarke. Their rooms were not far from each other. As soon as Lexa heard something amiss, Clarke knew she would come running to help. It’s what had gotten her shot the last time, and Clarke wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s tone was timid.

“Hmm?” Lexa rolled over to face her, and her smile seemed more brilliant than ever. She was tired but unmistakably happy. Clarke’s pride momentarily swelled, knowing she was responsible for that expression. She drank in every last detail of Lexa’s face.

Something about the gravity of Clarke’s look must have worried her. The smile faded instantly. “You have to leave,” Lexa deduced.

Clarke nodded. She wished it wasn’t true, but as long as the blockade was in effect, she wouldn’t be welcome in Polis. Lexa understood that as well as anybody. “Can you do something for me?”

Lexa shifted closer to her, and Clarke could feel the heat emanating from her body. It was slightly dizzying. “Of course. Anything.”

“Can you get Aden before I leave? Maybe have him meet me by the gates?” Clarke asked. “I have something I want to tell him before I leave.”

“I can pass on a message later if you’d like.”

“I’d rather do it myself.”

Lexa blinked at her several times. Aden’s relationship with Lexa ran more deeply than Clarke’s did—he’d grown up with her, and in many ways, probably understood Lexa to be the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had—so the idea that Clarke needed to tell him something, something that she couldn’t also tell Lexa, caused her brows to crinkle with worry.

Clarke never intended to hide secrets from Lexa; she just needed to get her far enough away from the Polis tower. The nightbloods would either be training or preparing for the celebration in the square. Either option was fine, as long as it bought Clarke enough time to deal with Titus.

Perhaps she would warn Aden about Ontari, should the worst happen before she returned from Arkadia. The only thing worse than Lexa dying—and there weren’t many things, as far as Clarke was concerned—was her nightbloods dying with her. Even if Lexa lived for another fifty years, Clarke wanted them to be vigilant, to take care of one another.

“Okay,” Lexa conceded, sounding vulnerable.

Guilt tugged at Clarke’s chest. She leaned forward to place a feather light kiss against the corner of Lexa’s lips, and when she’d pulled away, her eyes were fluttering back open, an awestruck look on her face.

“It’s nothing bad, Lexa,” Clarke assured her. “While I’m gone, I just want someone to be looking after you.”

“I don’t need anyone looking out for me.”

“Hmm…” Clarke smirked, knowing that in most cases, she’d be right. “Let me be the judge of that.”

When Lexa finally relented, a giant weight seemed to lift of her shoulders. She watched wistfully as the commander slipped back into her clothes and reluctantly did the same. Lexa hesitated at the door, hands hanging awkwardly by her side. The uncertainty in her posture and etched across her features wasn’t  a sight Clarke was used to.

She hesitated for a minute. Clarke nearly asked what was wrong, but before she could, Lexa marched toward her and gave her one last firm kiss on the lips. Her eyes remained closed after she pulled away, and she pressed her own lips together to savor it. The action seemed to ground her, and her confidence came surging back.

“May we meet again,” Lexa said, suffusing her words with promise.

A moment later, she’d vanished.

 _Soon_ , Clarke thought longingly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The corridor outside Clarke’s room was empty, like it had been the last time. Instead of blindly walking inside, she paused just outside the door before entering. She knew where Titus was hiding and where Murphy was tied up without even looking.

Clarke had witnessed Titus’s fighting skills the moment he took down Semet without even breaking a sweat. He was a formidable opponent, but his entire planned hinged upon the element of surprise and his ability to wield a gun.

In this case, Clarke carried the advantage in both. He was an abysmal shot, and Clarke knew he’d be waiting for her.

She gripped her knife like her life depended on it, taking a several deep breaths to steady the anxious tremor in her hand. Her other hand rested on the doorknob. Knowing the danger waiting for her on the other side was unnerving, but her hour was nearly up. Clarke threw open the door with her shoulder and charged inside like a guided missile toward her attacker.

Titus had no idea what hit him. He’d been far too relaxed waiting for her arrival. Murphy’s pistol hung loosely in his hand, and when he spotted Clarke, his mouth fell open and his eyes sprang wide. By the time his finger found the trigger, she was barreling down on him at a full sprint.

A single shot blasted through the air, causing a ringing in Clarke’s ears. Even from point blank range, he’d missed. Titus didn’t have a chance to re-aim before Clarke launched herself into him and tackled him to the ground.

Her momentum and blind rage were enough to give her the upper hand quickly. She wrestled the gun from Titus’s grasp, and it clattered to the floor away from them. They descended into a messy brawl, not unlike the one she had with Anya months ago. Clarke’s knee pinned his dominant arm to the ground and grabbed his throat. Titus kicked at her with his knees and laid shots to her body with his one free hand.

The commotion was enough to rouse Murphy from his stupor, and he watched the two of them scuffle, shock on his face.

After a few minutes, her chokehold won out. Titus’s resistance waned, and she crawled to the fallen gun, fumbling to remove the clip and chucking it out of the window. Now he couldn’t shoot anyone if he tried.

“Clarke!” Murphy tried to shout through his gag, causing her to flinch.

Titus had reestablished his footing and was stumbling toward her. While his attacks on Clarke simply left her body hurting, her counterattack had rendered him woozy. Clarke whirled around and easily sidestepped his uncoordinated swing. It left him open for a strike, and as he braced his weight against an outstretched leg, Clarke took careful aim at his knee and kicked— _hard_.

Murphy and Clarke both winced at the sickening crack as Titus fell helplessly to the floor. It would be several weeks (at least) until he walked again.

She took huge gulps of air and rushed toward Murphy, who was bordering on panic.

“It’s time to go now,” Clarke urged, working hard to catch her breath. She sliced the ropes holding him in place with her knife.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Clarke glared at him. “Do you really want to stay here and find out?”

Her challenging tone made him reconsider. He wriggled out of his loosened bonds frantically. “Good point,” he muttered.

“Follow me,” Clarke ordered. She pulled at his arm, leading him out of the room. They slammed the door behind them to muffle Titus’s pained moans.

They sprinted down the empty corridor together, Murphy following closely on Clarke’s heels. It wouldn't be much longer now. Once they reached the bottom of the tower and entered the square below, the cover of the crowd and broad daylight would spare them from any further danger. After all, Clarke was still Wanheda, and nobody else in Polis would dare lay hand on her.

Or so she thought.

As she rounded the corner to the lift, a familiar face was waiting for her, blocking her passage. Clarke sighed in relief, seeing her guard again.

“Enar,” she said. “You’ve got to help us. We need to get down to the gates. Titus, he’s—”

“I’m sorry, Wanheda.” His eyes were distant, and there was a coldness behind his words that caused a shiver in Clarke’s spine. This didn’t sound like the man she’d spoken to earlier this morning. “I can’t do that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is my duty. It isn’t personal.”

A question started to form in Clarke’s mind, but before she had time to ask it or even process the possible meaning behind the guard’s words, he lunged forward. The glint of silver caught Clarke’s eye before a searing pain tore through her abdomen. He pulled back a bloodied knife after sinking it to the hilt.

She stumbled back several feet and stared at Enar with panic in her eyes.

“I am truly sorry Wanheda,” he said, and to his credit, he at least sounded like he meant it. That didn’t make the pain lessen or staunch the flow of blood pouring from Clarke’s wound.

He hopped onto the lift by himself, pulling on the ropes and disappearing down to the levels below.

The ground felt like it was spinning beneath Clarke’s feet, and she collapsed to the ground. Murphy was at her side in an instant, panicking. Polis was foreign to him, and he had no idea what do now that Clarke was at death’s door.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Murphy repeated the words like a mantra. He put pressure against Clarke’s wound, which only exacerbated the pain. It did little to stop the bleeding she had on the inside.

It was a mortal injury, Clarke knew. The edges of her vision were already blurring and her limbs felt heavy. She’d been so single minded about saving Lexa and defeating Titus that she’d overlooked just how far the flamekeeper’s reach extended in the tower. She had no doubt that Enar’s orders came from Titus himself in case he’d failed to bring Clarke down.

It was why no guards came to intervene the first time during the shootout that claimed Lexa’s life, and it was why Clarke hadn’t been allowed to escape the second time around.

Clarke wasn’t sure what force of nature had given her the second chance to rectify the horrors from Ascension Day. Part of her was simply happy that Lexa was still alive, still had the future and the legacy that she deserved. The more selfish part of Clarke was upset because they wouldn’t get a chance to share that future together. The promise of years of happiness, creating a new world with Lexa was stolen from her once again.

She grabbed the collar of Murphy’s jacket and pulled him toward her to get his attention.

“You need to find Lexa,” Clarke croaked, wincing as the simple effort made her feel as if she were splitting in half. She didn’t have much time left. Her blood was making a puddle on the floor around them, and the world started slip further and further away. “Tell her… I’m sorry.”

Clarke hated how often she told Lexa those words recently. She’d promised a reunion after the dust settled, but Clarke was going to bleed out before she ever saw her again.

“Clarke, I don’t—” Murphy shook his head desperately, teetering on the verge of hysteria. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who is Lexa?!”

 _She’s the only person who understands_ , Clarke thought.

She used up the reserves of her strength to cling to the last memories she had of Lexa—alive, glorious, and laid out on the bed beneath her. Clarke didn’t want to let it go, but she felt herself being pulled toward a sea of black, and she wasn’t strong enough to resist it.

_She’s the one that I…_

Clarke didn’t finish the thought before the darkness claimed her and her eyes fluttered shut one final time.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke jolted upright in her bed gasping for air, furs gathering at her waist. She ran her fingers over her stomach to examine the spot where the knife pierced her, finding only smooth, unblemished skin. Not even a scar.

The morning sunlight poured into her room from the window, and the city of Polis bustled merrily down below.

The damned bird started chirping its familiar melody.

The sights, sounds, and smells were all eerily familiar, and Clarke knew. Ascension Day had repeated itself once again.

It was a relief that she got another chance. Whatever would have happened to Clarke's spirit after her death—maybe it went someplace similar to where Lexa’s had gone—she was certain she would have found no peace after breaking her promise to Lexa.

Now she could try the day again. The slate was wiped clean, and Clarke was armed with more information, and a growing impatience for those that stood in her way.

She glared viciously at Enar on her way out of the room, subconsciously holding her arm across her abdomen. He didn’t make a move toward her or make any threatening gestures. He simply stood outside, doing the job he’d been trained to do.

Clearly Titus had not paid him off in his bid to assassinate her just yet.

If the last time was any indication, Lexa wasn’t aware of the loop, nor was anyone else. They would say the same things, do the same things, until Clarke intervened, changing their fates. The possibilities she sparked could very well be endless, but what was the point?

She’d thought that saving Lexa would have been the trigger, but clearly that hadn’t been the case. If it had, then Clarke would be dead, not waking up on Ascension Day for the third time. Surely she wasn’t going to be doomed to relive this day until the second apocalypse. The only assumption she had was that something had gone wrong on her first two attempts, and she needed to fix it so that time could continue moving forward.

The only commonality between both was death. First Lexa’s, then Clarke’s. Was that what Clarke needed to do? Save _all_ the players in this political game?

If that was the case, the only way to be certain of both her and the commander’s fate was to leave Polis before Titus made his move. She had to escape from the tower immediately after Semet’s hearing concluded. After that, the guards would be on Titus’s orders, and when they decided it was time for her to die, there wasn’t much she could do that would stop it.

She refused to put Lexa in the crosshairs again.

Clarke would find Murphy, and they would join Octavia and Indra on the ride out from the capital. There would be no grand romantic send off with Lexa this time. Not if she wanted them both to survive the day.

It would hurt, but she’d been through worse. She remembered Lexa’s blood coating her hands and her ragged last breaths. How she’d been helpless to stop her death. Unable to fix her. But Clarke wasn’t helpless anymore.

Clarke knew how deeply she felt, and she knew how deeply Lexa felt. There would never be anyone else. Simply _knowing_ that truth wasn’t ideal, but it was enough for now. The timing wasn’t right. Clarke wasn’t patient for many things, but she could wait for Lexa—weeks, months, even years if need be (though she hoped it wasn’t quite that long). If they wanted their chance in the future, first they had to survive the present.

 _Maybe, someday_. They would have their chance. Clarke would make it so, and as much as it would hurt for the both of them, Lexa would understand.

Clarke found her in her throne room again for the ceremony, lecturing the nightbloods. Even though she knew that they would have to put aside their feelings this time around, Clarke still couldn’t control the way her body reacted to seeing Lexa’s tiny smile at her appearance. She approached slowly, taking in the scene around her.

“Good morning, Clarke,” Lexa greeted cheerfully. “We were just talking about Ascension Day. Would you care to join us?”

Lexa’s hopefulness was dashed when she registered Clarke’s sober expression. Guilt nagged at Clarke, but it would be best if she didn’t set up a false expectation that the day would end in bliss. She broke her promise the last time and was determined not to do it again.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Clarke asked.

“Of course,” Lexa answered, a little too eagerly. She leaned forward giving Clarke her undivided attention. Her earnestness was endearing, which only made it worse.

Clarke glanced at the nightbloods uneasily. “Alone?” Her tone hardened.

The word brought a barely perceptible shift in Lexa’s expression. The nightbloods didn’t notice, but Clarke had always paid attention to the subtle ways Lexa’s emotions shone through her mask.

She swallowed to contain her unease and agreed to Clarke’s request. “Gon we, natblidas.” She waved her hand to send them off. “Stot yu granplei. Ai na hit yu op pas osir odon.”

The kids sprung to their feet at once, all of them keen to follow Lexa’s order. When they had all left, doors clicked shut behind them, Lexa dropped all pretenses. She rose from her throne and stepped toward Clarke warily.

“What’s wrong, Clarke?” She placed a gloved hand on Clarke’s bicep. It was a supposed to be a simple comforting gesture, but the touch burned like fire against her skin.

By Clarke’s reckoning, she had about ten minutes before Titus arrived escorting Semet and Octavia.

“I need to go back to Arkadia,” Clarke said. She directed her eyes at the ground, unwilling to watch the disappointment she knew would cloud Lexa’s face.

“Clarke.” She didn’t even have to see Lexa’s face to hear her incredulity. “You do remember the last time you went to your people, they tried to kill you, don’t you?”

“I remember.”

A lingering silence passed between them. Clarke knew Lexa well enough to know that the conversation hadn’t ended, and sure enough—when she finally gave in and met her gaze, Lexa was appraising her. The day before, they’d dealt with Emerson, one of the last skeletons hiding in Clarke’s closet. For the first time in a long while, Clarke had been happy, and Lexa had known it.

Now, Lexa’s mind was working in overdrive behind her green eyes, trying to reason through the sudden change.

“Then what happened?” she asked. When Clarke didn’t answer right away, she added, “Did somebody threaten you?”

Clarke hesitated. Titus hadn’t actually decided to threaten her yet. That was inevitably a future development, one that she could avoid if she left.

“No,” she answered, taking far too long to answer.

“That didn’t sound terribly convincing.”

Telling Lexa her need to leave without spoiling her foresight was trickier than Clarke anticipated. Lexa would never force Clarke to stay, but if she became suspicious, she might try to intervene in some way that would accidentally danger one of them, if not both.

“It has nothing to do with what’s happening in Polis. I have to be there for my people. They need me _there_ , not here at the capital.”

Clarke internally cringed at how tired the excuse sounded as soon as it fell from her mouth. She’d said it so many times, mostly to Lexa, and she’d truly _meant_ it only a few. It had been an easy contrivance, allowing Clarke to avoid admitting the more uncomfortable truths she hadn’t wanted to admit. Like her feelings for the girl in front of her.

Before, that wouldn’t have bothered Clarke as much, but now when she saw the way Lexa’s face fell, she wanted to take it back immediately. “I’m sorry,” she added again, feeling lamer each time she said it.

“Don’t be sorry. They are your people,” Lexa nodded, her voice soft from the perceived rejection. “I will have a horse ready to take you back to your home within the hour.”

“Lexa, wait.” Clarke reached out to grab her wrist before she turned away, meeting no resistance. She paused, standing nearly toe to toe with Clarke.

“Was there something else?”

Clarke was resigned to leave, but she didn’t want to leave Lexa like this. As far as Lexa knew, Clarke was indifferent. While she was gone, there had to be _hope_ for them.

She cupped Lexa’s face it in her hands, and pressed their lips together. Lexa went rigid at the unexpected gesture, so Clarke nudged her nose against her cheek encouragingly until Lexa responded, their lips parting and coming back together over and over again. Clarke tried to put everything she felt into the kiss, moving with slow, deliberate movements. Lexa practically melted against her. Her fingers moved to trail down the small of Clarke’s back, and Clarke’s fingers threaded into Lexa’s braided hair.

Clarke’s tongue swiped across the inside of Lexa’s upper lip, coaxing her mouth to open and a low, guttural moan to escape her. Clarke pulled away reluctantly, and Lexa’s eyelids fluttered open. She kept their foreheads pressed together, their hurried breaths mingling in the space between them.

If this day was lost to the time loop, Clarke was determined to commit it to her memory.

“Clarke, why…?”

“I didn’t want to leave without letting you know,” Clarke whispered, stroking her thumb along the side of her neck.

If Clarke was correct—and in the circumstances, she probably was—they wouldn’t have the chance to later. Not if she was going to search for Murphy and leave Polis.

The admission startled Lexa. Her mouth parted ever so slightly, awe filling her wide eyes.

This time, Lexa leaned forward to close the space between them. But before their lips met, the doors banged open.

Lexa jerked her hands away from Clarke’s waist guiltily, and the two jumped away from each other, their breaths erratic. Lexa balled her hands into fists at her side. Titus waltzed into the room, oblivious to what he’d interrupted, and Semet followed him with the rest of his guard.

Octavia was the only one who seemed to have any suspicions. She noticed her and Lexa’s set of matching kiss swollen lips. Clarke blushed furiously, and Octavia clenched her jaw against the gag in her mouth.

Clarke didn’t listen much during the meeting. The arguments remained the same. Semet voiced his grievances, Lexa acknowledged them, and started a discussion on the clans’ possible response. When the time came for Clarke to say her piece, she said the same things she’d said the previous times.

Predictably, Lexa called for the blockade. Semet tried again, unsuccessfully, to assassinate her.

The meeting’s end sprang Clarke into action again. Seeing Titus approach the commander, doubtlessly to question her leniency against Skaikru, she rushed to her side.

Clarke whispered urgently into her ear: “When you’re finished,” she eyed Titus as he approached, “meet me at the base of the tower. It’s important.”

Lexa frowned. “Is there anything wrong?”

“I need your help with something.”

There was apparently no need for Clarke to ask anything further. The words had barely fallen from her mouth, and Lexa nodded her head in agreement. “Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished, you have my word.”

Clarke placed her hand across Lexa’s forearm. “Thank you.”

Lexa stared at the place where they touched like she wasn’t quite sure it was real. When they separated, she turned her attention to Titus and narrowed her eyes and glowered at him, making Clarke feel vindicated for all the times she’d fantasized about throwing him over the balcony.

She had to hurry to catch Octavia after she’d been released. The girl was trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the her captors.

Clarke caught her elbow and pulled her toward the lift. Octavia pulled away roughly, which Clarke expected. She was confused and didn’t understand why Clarke had been present for the meeting and not fought against Lexa’s decision, almost as if she’d known what was going on and had been in Polis negotiating against Skaikru behind her back.

Only part of Octavia’s assumption was right: Clarke knew exactly what was going on. Her frustration was legitimate (even if misguided), but Clarke also knew it was temporary. Once Clarke pulled the gate closed on the lift and they started their descent, Octavia finally spoke up.

“Looks like you’ve been getting pretty cozy here in Polis,” she sneered. “Tell me, since you and the commander are so _close_ , is that why you’ve suddenly decided to let Arkadia burn? I mean, sure—she’s pretty—but I never thought you’d forget where your loyalties lie.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. Of all the problems facing them, this _would_ be what Octavia brought up first. They only had time until the lift reached the bottom level to hash out their differences. Clarke needed her to find Indra while she looked for Murphy.

“Arkadia isn’t going to burn,” Clarke said, trying not to let Octavia’s petulance rile her. “We’re going to slip past the blockade.”

Octavia hadn’t been expecting that, and she stared at Clarke stunned. Once the initial surprise registered, she seemed willing to listen to the plan, as Clarke expected. “And just how do expect to do that?”

“We’re leaving before the army does. You need to find Indra. Get four horses ready and meet me outside the gates.”

“Four?” Octavia frowned.

“Murphy’s being held prisoner. Once I find him, we’re bringing him back to Arkadia.”

Octavia’s mouth hung open comically. The last time either of them had seen or even mentioned Murphy was back before they’d entered the first alliance with the grounders, which seemed like a lifetime ago. A million questions flickered behind the girl’s eyes, mixing with her anger and indignation. She wasn’t completely sold on the plan.

“There’s no other option, Octavia,” Clarke explained. “We can keep this from turning into violence if we can overthrow Pike. If we want to do that, we need to hurry before the army set up a perimeter. You know how to get through the Ark without getting caught better than anyone.”

“But why does there need to be a barricade in the first place?”

It took all of Clarke’s effort not to retaliate against her. Clarke had lived this exact situation twice already and knew the outcome. She’d seen the political machinations and the strain that her people were causing. Clarke had already explained the reasoning to Octavia once, and with each passing day, she’d have to do it again.

“If there’s no blockade and Pike stays in power, everyone at Arkadia will die. This is not something Lexa wants out of spite, Octavia. It’s politics. Pike has to pay for what he’s done.” Clarke didn’t put much effort into hiding her annoyance. The lift was nearly down to the bottom. “You’ve seen how things are at the Ark. The only way he’s going to lose his position is if he’s thrown out. If we can sneak in, we may have enough people on the inside to do it. I need your help with that. Unless you agree with what Pike’s doing?” Clarke added, trying a new tactic.

“I don’t!”

“Then help me,” Clarke challenged her. “The rest of it, I’ll explain later, but right now, we don’t have any time to waste.”

Octavia deliberated while the lift continued its descent. Polis was miles away from Arkadia, and neither of them could stay here safely while the blockade was in effect. Deep down Clarke suspected that Octavia did want to exact her revenge on Pike. Her distrust of Lexa was just clouding her judgment.

Only when it reached the bottom, and the gate swung open, did she relent, though she still wasn’t particularly pleased.

“Fine,” Octavia huffed. “If you’re not there in an hour, I’m finding Indra, and we’re leaving without you.”

Clarke allowed herself the tiniest grin, not caring at all how Octavia would misinterpret it. In any reality, an hour seemed to be Octavia’s threshold for idleness.

Lexa found Clarke minutes later, joining her where she stood alone just outside the tower’s entrance. The activity from the markets and carts would cover a private conversation easily. Lexa seemed to realize the same and made no attempt to lead them elsewhere. Her eyes roamed over her people, but her attention was directed solely at Clarke.

“Your prescience is remarkable,” Lexa said. Her tone was detached, which was alarming. After she’d re-broken the barriers between them again this morning, Clarke had expected a warmer greeting.

“I’m sorry?” Clarke frowned.

“Your decision to leave Polis was sudden, but it makes more sense if you already knew of your people’s attack on Semet’s village,” Lexa explained carefully, her eyes finally flickering over to Clarke to gauge her reaction. “It’s being rumored that you knew of the battle before the villagers arrived this morning. That you knew the attack was coming and let it happen to spare your people from retaliation.”

Clarke shook her head. “Lexa, you know that isn’t true.”

“Like I said,” Lexa replied, still distant, “your prescience is remarkable.”

Clarke reached down to capture Lexa’s hand, meeting no resistance. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“It makes a certain amount of sense. I want this alliance to work as much as anyone, Clarke, but I have to maintain objectivity. _Jus drein no jus daun_ will only work as long as both sides are willing to work toward peace. I know you care for your people, but even you must acknowledge that you have something of a blind spot for them.”

The last part hurt because on some level, Clarke knew she was right. But the first part of the rumor—that Clarke knowingly let or even encouraged her people attack a village—was simply untrue. Her decision to leave had been rooted in the time loop. She was trying to save them both but couldn’t explain herself aloud because of the absurdity of it all.

“Lexa, do you trust me?” Clarke asked seriously.

“This has nothing to do with—”

“Do you trust me?” she repeated.

Lexa watched her closely, her green eyes searching Clarke’s face. After a moment, the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders relaxed, and the familiar easiness she carried only in Clarke’s presence returned. The sight spread warmth through Clarke’s chest, her body feeling lighter with the break in tension.

“I do trust you, Clarke. You already know that.” That special intimacy that Lexa seemed to reserve only for her returned. It hummed like electricity through her veins.

“Then you know I had no idea my people were going to attack that village. If I’d known what they were planning, I would have tried to stop it myself.”

Lexa nodded, seemingly accepting that explanation. The question of just _how_ Clarke would have accomplished stopping Pike’s band of violent lackeys was a moot point. But it did bring up another question.

“Was it because of what your people had done? Did you have an informant?” There was no accusation in Lexa’s voice. Clarke balked again, not knowing how to explain away her sudden need to return to Arkadia. “Titus seems to think you have an inside source reporting to you. He seemed rather pleased when I informed him of your decision to leave.”

“I bet he is,” Clarke scoffed. “He’d rather see me dead than let me stay in Polis.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched. “Some of his views are tremendously misguided, but he knows as well as anyone the punishment that awaits traitors, and lifting a hand against a trusted ambassador would be a betrayal of the worst kind. He’d never been that foolish.”

 _If only that were true_ , Clarke thought.

Instead, she muttered, “I’m not hiding anything from you.” Her gaze drifted to the ground and she toed at the cobbled stone beneath her feet. “You just wouldn’t believe the truth if even I told you.”

A smirk played at the edges of Lexa’s lips. After having an A.I. implanted into her neck, her threshold for unbelievable had to be fairly high. “We’ve already established that I trust you, Clarke.”

Clarke looked at her— _really_ looked at her. Lexa was waiting intently for her explanation, her hands crossed loosely in front of her body. Clarke debated for a few minutes while she stood there, silently and patiently.

Finally, Clarke decided to just throw caution to the wind. She told Lexa everything: about her being killed, Ontari’s assassination of the nightbloods, her position as the new Flamekeeper, her journey to find Luna, and her accident with the chip before waking up to repeat Ascension Day all over again. Then she told her of the second attempt, which ended with a knife in her stomach. Lexa listened intently, though it was hard to tell what she was thinking while her lips were pressed into a thin line, her face expressionless.

In all their previous conversations, they’d never spoken of the flame. Clarke’s knowledge of the A.I. lent credence to her story, and she watched as Lexa stoically worked through it in her mind. For the longest time, neither of them said anything. Clarke held her breath waiting for the reaction.

“To my knowledge and that of my predecessors, nothing like what you’ve described has ever happened in our history,” Lexa said carefully. She didn’t outright say that she didn’t believe the story, but she seemed dubious. “It’s certainly… peculiar.”

“It’s the truth.” Clarke had a hard time hiding her defensiveness.

It was how she knew Semet was going to arrive in the morning. It was how she knew the blockade was coming and knew to direct Octavia into action without drawing out their daily argument. It was how she knew leaving was the safest option for both of them and why she’d been so certain of her own feelings toward Lexa.

Time had never been on their side. Clarke was more cognizant of that now more than ever before, and she wasn’t going to keep wasting what little of it they had left.

“I never said that it wasn’t.” Lexa countered gently. “I don’t know of any technology or spirit that could have done such a thing, though I would imagine your knowledge of technology far exceeds mine. Assuming your story is correct, do you know what caused this?”

“No idea. This is the first time I’ve told anyone. To be honest, I’ve been thinking more about how to break the loop.”

“And?”

“The first time, you died.” Clarke tried to steady the wobble in her voice. “Then the day repeated, and the second time, I died. Both times, it was either directly or indirectly by Titus’s hand. This is the third day. I couldn’t fix things the first time, but I think if I can save us, I can break the loop.”

“And that is why you’re leaving,” Lexa concluded.

“Mostly.” Clarke admitted. She still needed to cast Pike out of Arkadia, but that was now a secondary concern at the moment.

Lexa mulled this over for a few minutes. Then unexpectedly, a thunderous expression came across her face, and the careful restraint she’d been showing melted away. The last time Clarke had seen her eyes flash so angrily, she’d ordered Raven tied up to a tree.

“I think I need to speak with Titus,” Lexa growled. “Now.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. She put her hand to Lexa’s arm, hoping to calm her. The commander could have easily pulled away if she wanted to, but she stilled at the touch, looking at Clarke with a pained expression. The news that her chief advisor had moved beyond simply loathing Clarke to actively planning her death was something she hadn’t expected.

“Titus can wait. I need your help,” Clarke said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. Lexa fully relaxed, and Clarke sighed in relief.

“What is it that you need?”

“John Murphy. He’s one of my people. He was arrested and brought to Polis for theft. I need to bring him back to Arkadia with me.”

Clarke hoped that Lexa didn’t ask for a reason, and at any rate, Clarke wasn’t sure she had one, only a nagging suspicion that Titus was going to murder him as soon as the boy was no longer useful. With the current tensions between Skaikru and the rest of the clans, they might even cheer if Titus had Murphy hanged or knifed in the middle of the Polis streets.

“Come with me,” Lexa said with a single nod.

The people in the streets parted before them, giving them a wide berth. The whispers of “Heda” and “Wanheda” surrounded them from all sides.

They arrived at a dingy looking building with no windows, only an open doorway and wide cracks in the walls. Lexa passed an uneasy look at Clarke before heading inside. The doorway led to a small anteroom, where several burly, imposing guards were seated. At the sight of Lexa and Clarke, they scrambled to their feet, lowering their heads in a bow.

Lexa ignored them, headed down the stairwell at the far side of the room. Heavy metal bars adorned the long hallway. Torches on the wall provided the only light in the dark corridor, the smoke wafting outside through the cracks in the ceiling.

“If your friend was picked up by a bounty hunter for theft, he would have been taken here for holding,” Lexa said, removing a torch from the wall. “I don’t know what your friend looks like. You’ll need to identify him.”

Clarke nodded, feeling suddenly lightheaded in the dark, smoky prison. This was where Titus had found him before bringing him to the tower, she was sure of it.

Each time they passed a cell, Lexa held the flame close to the bars to illuminate the people inside. They lay in huddled masses on the rocky floor, some too weak to lift their heads, some terrified, some who looked as if they’d spent the majority of their lives wasting inside these cells. One man had a deep cut across his face from trying to break the iron bars using his head. The prison was the most depressing place Clarke had ever seen, and she’d spent nearly a year in solitary on the Ark. She didn’t think she would have survived that long in here.

With every cell they passed, Lexa looked toward Clarke, and she would shake her head no. They reached the last few cells, which were empty. Lexa turned to leave, but as she moved, a glint of shining metal inside one of the cells caught Clarke’s eye.

“Wait,” she said.

Lexa stopped, watching as Clarke approached the empty cell in question. She swung the gated door open and stepped inside, kneeling to pick up the shiny object that lay forgotten in the dirt and grime of the corner. Clarke dusted it off.

It was a bullet. Not one from a handgun like Clarke always carried, but larger, like one from a rifle. After she wiped it clean, she could easily see the scratches along the brass casing where the bullet had been manually refilled with gunpowder. She recognized Raven’s handiwork. This bullet came from the dropship, and there was only one way it could’ve ended up here.

“Murphy was here,” Clarke said. She stood and left the cell to return to Lexa, showing her the evidence.

“Clarke…” Lexa looked confused, afraid of her reaction. “If I’d known your friend was here, I would have told you. I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Clarke took a deep breath, and the stale, smoky air did nothing to soothe her. Murphy probably hadn’t spent much time in that cell at all, and she was sure if the had time enough to torture the guards from the prison, she would know exactly who’d come to take him and when—and who’d paid to keep them quiet.

Titus didn’t technically have the authority to free prisoners, but when had he let rules stop him? He was probably beating Murphy right now within an inch of his life. Murphy’s last words to him— _Why is my blood decorating your floor?_ —replayed over in her mind.

She should have realized. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably.

“Let’s just go, okay?”

They retraced their steps to the tower, wading through an even larger crowd on their return. Apparently, the news of the commander and Wanheda’s whereabouts in the city had spread quickly. The afternoon sun cast a long shadow from the tower, which led directly to the city’s gate. She spotted Indra and Octavia in the distance, horses loaded. Octavia gave Clarke a surreptitious ready signal, which Lexa also noticed..

Lexa led them to a private alcove at the tower’s base, away from prying eyes. She looked at Clarke with such conviction that it made her heart ache.

“There’s still time to find your friend,” Lexa offered. “I can have a team of gonas search—”

“Lexa, I know where he is,” Clarke interrupted.

“Oh? We should hurry.”

“There’s not enough time.” She gestured to the gates, where the small forms of Indra and Octavia stood waiting with their horses. “Besides, he’s…”

Lexa moved closer into Clarke’s space when she saw her grimace.

Clarke and Murphy had never been close. She’d banished him once, watched as he was hung for a crime he didn’t commit, and they were still on speaking terms. Yet compared to the icy greeting she’d received from the rest of her people at Arkadia after her prolonged absence, Murphy’s capacity for empathy seemed to far exceed the rest of Skaikru’s. She wasn’t going to abandon him here.

“Titus has him. I’m pretty sure he’s torturing him.”

“I don’t understand,” Lexa said.

“When he was afraid I wouldn’t leave Polis, his ultimate plan was to kill me with a Skaikru weapon and frame Murphy. If I’m gone, there’s no incentive for him to keep him alive. And if I go back inside, Titus may try to kill me again for reneging on my promise to leave.”

“Clarke, he would never—” She cut off her own sentence at the severe look on Clarke’s face, remembering their earlier conversation.

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Of course,” Lexa answered automatically.

“If I’m right, Murphy should be in Titus’s sanctuary room. Can you make sure he’s taken care of when I leave?”

Lexa blinked several times, as if that had been the last question she’d ever expected Clarke to ask. She’d never met Murphy—not once. He was irreverent at even the best of times, and Clarke hoped that his sense of self-preservation would be enough to keep him from being cast off the tower balcony.

It still surprised Clarke when Lexa said, “Consider it done,” without a moment’s hesitation.

Clarke regarded her for a moment, away from the prying eyes of the people outside. The sun angling through the window cast a hard light across Lexa’s face, so reminiscent of their last goodbye. Clarke wouldn’t let this time be tainted with sadness. She threw her arms around Lexa, pulling their bodies against each other, and Lexa relaxed into the embrace immediately. She rested her hands against the small of Clarke’s back and nuzzled her face into blonde hair.

“Thank you,” Clarke said softly.

“For what?”

“For trusting me.” Lexa had trusted Clarke for a long time, had listened to her opinions, adapting her own views at times and respectfully correcting her when her reasoning failed. Clarke had enjoyed that trust and respect, but she’d never thanked Lexa properly for it. “I _am_ ready, you know,” she whispered.

The significance of the statement was not lost on either of them, and Clarke felt the grin against her neck. It was the hint of a promise she’d made months ago, yet something they’d both been dancing around for weeks.

“You will always have a place in Polis, whenever you wish to stay.” Her voice carried an edge of hope that Clarke found strange and exciting. It lifted something within Clarke’s chest and made her feel like this time, they’d finally get their chance at a future together.

“I won’t be gone a minute longer than I need to be.”

Lexa nodded into their embrace and whispered against her neck, “May we meet again.”

Clarke squeezed harder, trying to block out the haunting familiarity of her words. “We _will_ meet again,” she assured her.

Reluctantly, Clarke pulled away, letting her fingertips linger a little longer than necessary. She committed every last touch, sight, and smell to memory. As she left, Lexa followed to the tower’s exit.

“Gouthru klir hashta yu soujon,” Lexa called after her as she started walking away, loud enough for only her ears.

Clarke gave her a nod and a smile. As she left, the crowds parted before her, whispering and pointing as she passed. She felt Lexa’s eyes following her until she reached the gates, but she didn’t look back, too afraid to lose her nerve.

Indra regarded Clarke suspiciously. Octavia no longer acted as if she’d betrayed her people, but she still was irritable. Despite Clarke’s earlier promise, she never even asked for her to continue the explanation from the lift.

It was a tense ride back to Arkadia. Instead of conversation, Octavia pushed their horses to trot harder, and the only sounds they listened to were the heavy clop of hooves into muddy earth and the deep, steady pant of their horses. They slowed only twice and stopped only once.

Nighttime had barely fallen when reached Arkadia, and Clarke suspected they’d beaten the blockade by a couple of hours with their pace. Octavia led them across a hidden path of trees beside a tunnel with tracks emerging through it.

Clarke wasn’t familiar with this place. There were fences she’d never seen before, new shacks, and new buildings. It was the first time she’d appreciated how much Arkadia had truly changed during her months away.

“Wait here,” Octavia said, before dismounting her horse and scampering into the tunnel, leaving Clarke and Indra waiting alone.

If Clarke had her way, Murphy would have been here to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. As it was, there was nobody left to buffer the indignation wafting off of Indra. The woman said nothing, but if looks could have killed, Clarke would have been dead ten times over.

The wait for Octavia’s return was worse than painful. After nearly an hour, Clarke felt like she was being raked over bed of hot coals. Unable to stand it any longer, she hopped off of her horse and stepped toward Indra, who stared at her down the length of her nose with distaste.

“You look like you want to get something off your chest,” Indra commented, cool sarcasm flowing off her tongue easily.

“Look,” Clarke placated; Indra watched her with keen eyes, expecting some sort of argument. “I know you’re disappointed that I argued for leniency against Skaikru. But you have to realize there will only be more bloodshed if this turns into a war.”

“You think I’m _disappointed_?” Indra scoffed. “There isn’t a word in gonasleng adequate to describe how I feel, Clarke kom Skaikru.”

“It was the only way we could keep peace. It’s a message of compassion, not weakness.”

“What you’ve argued for is not peace. Take a look around you, Clarke. Why do you think we hide outside your people’s gates? Do you think they would welcome us with open arms if we announced our arrival? We’d be met with a hail of gunfire, and that’s if we were lucky.” Indra growled. “We _had_ peace once. I believed in that peace as much as anybody,” Indra growled. “But I’ve now seen firsthand the capacity for Skaikru’s _compassion_. I suppose you think I should feel grateful that I didn’t have a bullet put in my head like the rest of my gonas.”

Clarke shook her head, not willing to put the images in her head. It had to have been a misunderstanding. “You don’t know them like I do.”

“And every day I am thankful for that,” Indra spat.

The warrior took several deep breaths, trying to calm the anger that was threatening to overflow at any moment. Clarke didn’t fear for her life—Indra was in no shape to attack anyone at the moment—but she’d never felt so insignificant.

“Your people come to our land barely five months ago and presume to know about peace, when all you’ve experienced on this earth is war,” Indra said, disdain still dripping from every word. “Declaring ‘peace’ does not make it so, Clarke. All sides have to be willing to compromise to achieve it. Skaikru’s attack on a peacekeeping force in the dead of night, an unprovoked attack on a village to claim their land—does that sound like a side that is willing to negotiate for peace?”

“Lexa believes that it’s possible,” Clarke argued.

“Of course she does. Heda has forged a peaceful coalition before, back when the clans were in shambles. But this is different. You represent Skaikru, both as an ambassador and to Heda personally, yet you are blinded to the flaws of your people. I trust Heda with my life.” Indra’s declaration was absolute and unwavering. “But she looks at you and sees Skaikru for what they should be, not for what they’ve become. Our commander is strong—the strongest I’ve ever seen in my lifetime—but if this plan fails and Skaikru follows through on its plan to make war, then I fear her reign will come to a swift and bloody end. Lexa deserves a better legacy than that.”

“Well, I won’t let that happen.”

“If Skaikru starts their war, you will be a disavowed ambassador. The other twelve clans have all bled for this alliance, and if they believe Heda’s actions have endangered that, nothing will stop them from calling for her head. Nothing you could do would stop that,” Indra said, and Clarke thought she detected a hint of sadness.

A long, uncomfortable silence hung between them, broken only by the light rustle of grass and trees swaying in the wind. Clarke mulled over her words, trying to consider her people’s actions in a detached, unbiased way.

It was harder than she thought; she _knew_ them—their laughs, their jokes, their oddities. Reconciling her friends with the people who’d left a field of corpses wasn’t easy. The familiar smell of death, earth, and blood sprung vividly to Clarke’s mind, and she shook the unpleasant visions from her mind.

Eventually, Clarke settled on saying, “I’m sorry.” She’d repeated that phrase a lot recently, but this time, the weight of it actually felt like it might crush her.

“Your sorrow doesn’t bring back the three hundred of my soldiers, nor will it provide comfort to their families or friends.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

Indra fixed her with a hard stare before swinging her leg over the saddle and climbing down gracefully from her horse, putting herself squarely in front of Clarke. “I want you to remove your people from the pedestal you’ve placed them on, acknowledge the crimes they’ve committed against our alliance, and hold the guilty accountable to the rest of the clans. Even if they are your closest friends. This mission is about the future of this alliance, and it starts the moment we step foot inside those gates.”

Clarke didn’t flinch away from the challenge. She simply nodded.

The sound of dull footsteps from the tunnel distracted them both. Indra took a step back, and Clarke finally felt like she could breath normally again. Octavia emerged a minute later, her face lit by the moonlight.

“Everything okay here?” she asked skeptically, gaze drifting back and forth between the two women, both wound so tightly, they seemed ready to snap.

“We’re good,” Clarke said, her voice strained.

Octavia’s questioning eyes passed over to Indra, who gave a curt nod. Octavia clearly understood there’d been some sort of confrontation while she was gone, but she seemed content simply knowing it hadn’t come to fisticuffs.

“The guards change shift in five hours,” Octavia explained. “When they do, there’s a ten minute window for us to get inside. Miller’s going to help us reach a safe room so we can touch base with Kane and the rest of the resistance. Until then, we need to wait here.”

Indra nodded her agreement. “It will be a long night after we enter the camp. We need to be alert. We should get some rest before the guard change.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Octavia volunteered.

Clarke didn’t argue. She was so tired, but part of her was afraid to go to sleep. What would happen when she woke up?

Despite the uncertainties, she tied her horse up along with the others, and found a stretch of soft grass with a rock to lean against. She settled against it and pulled her jacket closer around herself to shield against the chilly wind. The silence tempted her asleep, but Clarke resisted valiantly. As her eyelids grew heavier, she allowed her eyes to drift close for seconds and minutes at a time to relieve the fatigue.

She thought of Lexa, and her inevitable return to Polis. The image was her only sustenance for the unpleasantness she knew was coming. Certain individuals had to die, but Clarke’s hands were already stained with blood.

Would a little more blood on her hands really tarnish her soul? She wasn’t sure, but tonight felt different than the night she destroyed Mount Weather.

This time, she would kill a few to restore an alliance, to keep Skaikru from annihilation. With just a little blood, she could restore hope to thousands, and bring a new peace that Indra doubted her people capable of. All she had to do was keep her eye on the prize waiting for her at the end.

Her eyes stayed closed in longer and longer intervals, until they stayed closed and her conscious thoughts transitioned seamlessly into dreams.

Sometime later Clarke awoke, a little too warm, a little too comfortable. The fog of just waking clouded most of her senses, but she vaguely remembered there was a job she needed to do.

“Octavia?” Clarke muttered.

The only answer she received was a bird chirping nearby. Clarke recognized the sound, bolting upright with her eyes springing wide open.

She was back in Polis.

“Fuck!” she screamed into the empty bedroom.

She’d failed. It was Ascension Day, all over again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke stormed out of her room seeing red.

This was not supposed to happen. She’d saved everyone during the last loop through Ascension Day: Lexa, herself, Octavia, Indra, and even Murphy. Nobody had died, and they’d beaten the barricade back to Arkadia with a solid plan to overthrow Pike.

Why couldn’t she move forward?

“Wanheda?” Enar approached her warily. No doubt he’d heard her expletive shouted from inside her bedroom.

Clarke shot him a death glare, still holding a grudge from the time he’d stabbed her. He withdrew like she’d physically slapped him. On a normal day, Clarke may have felt guilty for her pettiness, but she was past the point of caring about his sensitivities.

Each time Clarke passed through the time loop, different pieces of the day were slowly coming together. Though Murphy had arrived at Polis some time ago, she knew Titus was holding him in his lair from the early morning hours. She knew Titus would approach Lexa after her decision to barricade Skaikru. She knew when the army was leaving, and she knew Octavia’s resistance was an impulsive distrust of anything Lexa proposed rather than a true belief that Arkadia shouldn’t face repercussions for their attacks.

Clarke just had to figure out when and how to intervene. Her initial hypothesis—saving their lives—had been wrong, and she didn’t have any other great ideas at the moment.

In the morning, before the other players came into play, the only steadfast presence Clarke could seek out was Lexa. She indulged herself with another kiss after Lexa sent the nightbloods away and didn’t stop kissing her until they were interrupted by Titus. Lexa was so flushed and lust addled after they’d finished that she looked on the verge of fainting. Clarke allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction at the sight, not caring at all if her shirt was twisted unnaturally on her body or if her hair was mussed where Lexa’s hands had been tangled moments previously.

After the meeting, Clarke stole Lexa away for a heated kiss, a goodbye, and a promise to return to Polis after she’d sorted her people, not sure at all if she would get a chance before the day repeated itself again.

The uncertainty was as freeing as is was frustrating. She’d already shared the same conversations, the same arguments, and the same boneheaded plots against her. There were precious few experiences that she didn’t mind reliving (all of them involved Lexa).

Clarke’s newfound approach involved throwing caution to the wind, and so she set off to find Titus’s lair, knowing he’d be in the midst of a discussion with Lexa. Finding the shrine room herself was more difficult this time around. She’d been stuck in a haze of grief when she’d visited the first time, and she’d been following Roan down the twisting corridors that all looked similar in this section of the tower.

She peeked in several doors, to no avail, but after the seventh or eighth miss, Clarke happened across the right one. The eerie firelight danced on the walls, lighting up the etchings from decades past. The old space pod sat in the center of the room, and just behind it sat Murphy, who was beaten senseless. Clarke rushed toward him.

There were bruises forming beneath his eyes, and dried blood caked the edges of his face, as if he’d been beaten upside the head several times. Despite his disorientation, he actually looked better than the last time Clarke had seen him, which probably meant Titus planned on coming back and continuing his torture soon.

Clarke shook his shoulders firmly. “Murphy.” She was met with an incomprehensible groan. “Murphy, it’s Clarke. Come on, you need to wake up!”

His eyes drifted open lazily, trying to focus on her. “Clarke?” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“No time to explain. We need to go.”

She pulled her knife and began cutting at his restraints, which were thicker than the ropes he’d had in Clarke’s room. The thick leather straps slowed her down. Murphy tried to help her by slipping his hands through, but the work was slow. Clarke bit her lower lip and repeated the sawing motion faster, applying as much force as her hands could tolerate.

Murphy went rigid as she nearly freed his right arm. “Clarke…”

“What is it?” Clarke asked. His eyes were fixed on something behind her, and she turned around to see Titus’s imposing silhouette standing in the doorway. The heavy door boomed shut behind him.

Clarke’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out. She couldn’t explain away her presence as an accident, and now that she’d found Murphy, she’d reestablished herself as a major threat. Murphy finally managed to slip his right hand free and started pulling at his left.

“You shouldn’t be here, Wanheda,” Titus’s low voice echoed in the stone room.

“We were just leaving,” Clarke countered.

She knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but she didn’t expect Titus to pull a gun from one of his table drawers, pointing its barrel between her and Murphy. Clarke instantly froze. The safety was off, and enough pressure against the trigger would send a bullet flying her way.

“You stole my gun!” Murphy shouted. He freed his other arm and stood from his chair.

Clarke immediately threw an elbow into his ribs to get Murphy to be quiet, not feeling the slightest bit guilty when she struck one of his bruised ribs, causing him to grunt. He wobbled precariously on his feet, still woozy from his beating.

“There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt,” Clarke tried to placate Titus, holding both her hands in the air.

The flamekeeper seemed to consider her words for a moment, his head tilting to the side. Clarke’s breath was stuck in her throat while he kept the gun tracked on them both. Even though she was confident the day would repeat itself if he killed her, she still had no desire to get shot. The memories from the previous loops remained, and if a gunshot was anywhere near as painful as being stabbed, Clarke wanted to avoid it at all costs.

But like any rash idiot wielding a gun, Titus wasn’t going to be talked down. Clarke could tell what he was about to do when he braced his arm and adjusted his grip to start firing.

“Get down!” Clarke shouted, pulling Murphy out of the way and throwing him to the floor.

He crawled to safety beneath a table, and Clarke dashed across the room to take cover behind the pod. The first bullet missed her by at least four feet—Titus was still as poor a shot as ever—but he still had around fourteen bullets left, by Clarke’s estimation. From point blank range, she suspected even Titus’s shooting would be deadly.

He fired off a series of bullets wildly as Clarke neared the pod, none of them passing anywhere near her. She allowed herself to hope… There weren’t many bullets left. Clarke heard another pop, followed simultaneously be a metallic clang and a the sensation of a red hot branding iron thrust deep inside her chest.

Drops of blood trickled to the floor at her feet, and Clarke spotted the dent in the spacecraft where the bullet had ricocheted. She touched her finger to the place center of her chest, feeling as if her insides were on fire. Hot, thick blood covered her fingers as she pulled her trembling hand away.

A stray bullet, ricocheted straight to the heart, and hell if it didn’t hurt even worse than being stabbed.

The strength ebbed from Clarke’s body within seconds, and she was barely conscious by the time her body hit the ground. Murphy’s yells of protest vaguely registered as Titus dragged him out of the room to charge him for Clarke’s death. It was impossible to think beyond the feeling that her chest had been ripped wide open.

She was grateful when her body mercifully succumbed to the blackness quickly, easing her suffering.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Clarke returned to her room from Lexa’s bed, her body still humming from their encounter. She hadn’t sent Lexa away this time, but the moment she stormed inside, she dragged a bench in front of the door to barricade the entrance, wedging its back underneath the door handle.

If Clarke could just keep Lexa from arriving at _that_ particular moment again, she’d be clear of the bullet’s path…

Titus started shooting in her direction, and Clarke knew the barricade was holding when she heard Lexa’s incessant pounding at the door.

Not shockingly, Titus missed every time he tried to shoot Clarke, and when his supply of bullets ran dry, she pounced on him, using his momentary confusion over the unfamiliar weapon to messily wrestle him to the ground and began pummeling him with her fists, elbows, and feet. She didn’t relent until Titus stilled, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he remained alive.

Clarke let out a contented sigh. Her barricade had held, and she survived Titus’s attack.

The silence in the room unnerved her. After the scuffle, Murphy eyed Clarke like he feared for his own life, but the pounding at the door had ceased. Not even a minute before, it sounded as if Lexa had been trying to burst through the door using her shoulder. Now there was nothing, not even a polite knock.

Her heart froze when she spotted a hole in the door’s otherwise smooth wooden surface.

“No, no, no…” Clark scrambled to her feet and rushed forward. She kicked the bench away from the wall, dragging the door open. “Oh my God.”

Lexa had been shot after all.

Her body lay crumpled on the floor, lifeless, surrounded by a pool of her blood. The despair Clarke had been trying so desperately to escape came rushing back to her all at once, and she couldn’t help the way her mind completely broke down. She was already dead.

Clarke cradled her lover’s  head into her lap and sobbed, her body shaking violently and uncontrollably. Her anguish carried to every corner of the tower. Nobody—guards, handmaidens, messengers—dared approach her, least of all Titus. By the time Clarke’s cries turned into exhausted hiccups and she slipped into a dark, dreamless sleep, Lexa’s body had cooled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke had always favored carrying a gun for her weapon, but after her most recent experiences, she liked them less and less. In the hands of the wrong people—morons like Pike and Titus—they were even more dangerous. Completely reckless.

Clarke clenched her jaw when she heard the bird chirping outside her window.

She was grateful for the loop giving another chance to correct the previous day’s failure, but she needed to physically _see_ Lexa alive again. It was as much a necessity as air or water, and every second the need went unfulfilled, Clarke felt more anxious. She dressed hurriedly and rushed to the throne room.

“Good morning, Clarke,” Lexa greeted her with a gentle smile. Clarke’s heart fluttered against her chest at the sound. She was alive, her grin was still as breathtaking as ever, and she was unblemished by the two times Clarke failed to save her. “We were just talking about Ascension Day. Would you care to join us?”

“Sure.” Clarke’s voice carried too much emotion than was natural for a casual early morning conversation, but neither Lexa nor the nightbloods seemed to notice. She stood to the side, watching Lexa interact with the group of children seated at her feet, teaching them about wisdom, compassion, and strength.

Not for the first time, Clarke was overwhelmed by her gentleness. She thwarted a culture of war, and—even though Lexa would never admit it aloud—ruled with love instead. There had never been a commander quite like her, and the only thanks she got for her troubles were her ambassadors and advisors conspiring against her.

Lexa always accepted their resistance readily, but Clarke grew increasingly indignant on her behalf. Her life and her legacy were consistently endangered by the people she should’ve been able to trust.

After watching Lexa die for the second time, Clarke’s protectiveness toward her grew exponentially. So when Titus inevitably came bursting through the doors to the throne room, Clarke couldn’t control the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end or the low buzzing in her ears.

Anger and loathing weren’t new experiences for Clarke. But pure, unfettered hatred wasn’t a feeling she was particularly familiar with. It consumed her to her very core, drowning out the more rational warnings emanating from somewhere in the back of her mind.

She marched straight up to Titus, not paying any heed to the ambassadors or generals following him into the throne room, and punched him with all her might. He’d been blindsided by the attack, Clarke noted gleefully. Her fist landed somewhere around his mouth, and after he fell to the ground, the room erupted into pandemonium. Strong arms pulled at Clarke’s arms and legs, and before she had time to try and escape, she was being dragged out of the throne room, her protests echoing and fading into nothing.

The guards escorted her to the prison she’d seen earlier, throwing her unceremoniously into one of the empty cells. The metal door banged shut behind her with a loud click as it locked. Clarke pressed her back against the wall and lowered herself onto the dirty floor, feeling only emptiness and a pain in her hand now that her rage had subsided.

This would be a day wasted, Clarke knew, but she realized that because nothing had happened, the day would reliably repeat itself again. She just had to wait for the midday to turn into the afternoon, and for the afternoon to turn to the night. This prison would only hold her for a few hours.

She rested her head on the brick wall behind her, but she was too awake for a nap. The incomprehensible groans and yells made it impossible to forget where she was, although Clarke still tried, clinging to some of her more pleasant memories she’d gained during the strange time loop and replaying them over again in her mind.

Sometime later (hours, Clarke suspected, though she couldn’t be sure), the prison grew quiet. She kept her eyes closed, finding it less depressing and easier to focus on her thoughts.

She startled when the lock to her cell clicked, the door squeaking open on its hinges. Lexa stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression, and Clarke gazed up at her looking awed.

“Clarke,” she said. It sounded somewhere between relieved and admonishing. Lexa would never support her angry outburst— _don’t let your emotions stop you now_ , Clarke recalled her saying once—but she at least seemed pleased to see her.

“I’m not going to apologize.”

“Very well,” Lexa said, nodding. She stepped inside the cell, closing the door behind her but leaving it unlocked. Clarke’s eyes widened when she lowered herself to sit next to her on the floor. She rested on the long tail of her coat, folding her legs neatly in front of her. “Let me see your hand.”

Clarke lifted her hand toward her, noticing her bloodied and swollen knuckles for the first time. Lexa took it gently and removed a clean cloth from inside one of pockets. Her touch was delicate, and it sent tingles up Clarke’s spine.

When she dabbed at the last knuckle, Clarke winced and inhaled sharply through her teeth. The hand was broken, and both of them knew it. Lexa pulled away with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke shook her head. “Don’t be.” She pushed her hand back toward Lexa, urging her to continue. If their situations had been reversed, Clarke would have insisted. Her eyes fluttered shut once Lexa’s gentle hands resumed their work. “Besides, it’s not like I punch people like that often. I’m sure I was doing it wrong.”

“Actually, your technique was quite good,” Lexa said, the corner of her mouth turning up into a barely perceptible grin. “It takes years of sparring to protect your hands from injury. And as for this,” she pointed to the now clean cuts along Clarke’s knuckles, “I’m afraid that’s from where you managed to knock out five of Titus’s teeth.”

“Seriously?”

“He is being seen by our fisas now. It’s unclear if they will be able to heal him.”

“Toothless Titus,” Clarke mused. She snorted with laughter a moment later, and while Lexa didn’t join in with her, she grinned, letting Clarke know she didn’t wholly disapprove.

After a few moments, the laughter died down, and tension grew into its place. Once Lexa had finished wrapping Clarke’s injured hand with a long strip of cloth, there was no longer anything else to distract them. Clarke shifted uncomfortably. In her seemingly endless battle against the time loop, there was still no point to this day, and now that cooler heads prevailed, she felt slightly guilty for her carelessness.

“Clarke, I know you,” Lexa said seriously, turning to look at her. “You may not be willing to apologize, and I’m not asking you to. I know you’ve had your disagreements with Titus. I’m only trying to understand what happened that provoked you to violence. What I saw this morning was not like you at all.”

“Titus has his own agenda. He’s going to keep pushing it even if it kills you.” Then, she added lowly, “It already has.”

“I don’t understand,” Lexa frowned.

It was an impossible situation to explain. Clarke could only imagine the look on Lexa’s face the second she explained she’d attacked him because he’d killed Lexa the last time she saw him. It sounded crazy even to Clarke’s ears. Yet Lexa had already trusted her once already, hadn’t she?

“I’m not sure you’ll believe me.”

“I trust you, Clarke.” There was a familiar conviction in Lexa’s voice that made her slightly dizzy.

She nudged into Lexa’s shoulder, enjoying the press of their bodies together, before methodically re-explaining everything day by day. There was enough new information—the A.I., the conclave, Luna—to make her story at least plausible, and when she’d finished, they sat quietly for several minutes, the words still hanging between them.

While Lexa contemplated, Clarke reached to her lap with her uninjured hand, entwining their fingers together. Lexa looked down to their joined hands in surprise but didn’t hesitate to squeeze them in return. The simple contact seemed to answer a million unasked questions.

“So you tried to stop the loop, and your first guess didn’t work?” Lexa clarified. Clarke relaxed, shaking her head in relief that Lexa had believed her for a second time. “Then what is your second plan?”

“I don’t have one.”

“And you still have no idea what started it?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be stuck here, that’s for sure.” Clarke leaned her head further on Lexa’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of the commander’s cheek pressing against the top of her head. “What would you do if you were me?”

Lexa seemed to consider this for a moment. “I would approach it like I would a battle.”

“Which would be…?”

“Scouting, information gathering, silent observation. Only once I was sure I’d found the weakness, and the target, would I finally execute my plan.”

“How am I supposed to find a ‘target’?” Clarke asked, frowning. “This could go on forever, and I don’t even know what I’m meant to be changing.” She’d suspected from the beginning that there was a reason the loop started, some glaring mishap she was meant to correct, but she still couldn’t see it. Not even after trying several painful alternatives.

“You’re tempted to jump into things prematurely because you need to fix everything, but sometimes you must be patient. Try not to interfere, let yourself be taught. Watch—see what you’re missing.”

Clarke grunted in discontentment.

“It takes as long as it takes, remember?” Lexa reminded her.

“Easy for you to say. I’m getting really tired of people killing us.” Clarke let a mirthless laugh, which turned to ash in her mouth as she felt a phantom pain in the center of her chest where the bullet once pierced her. “Getting shot is the absolute worst.”

Lexa looked thoughtfully at nothing in particular. “Hmm… I wouldn’t know.”

The words caused Clarke to ache inside. Lexa wouldn’t remember the pain, but Clarke had watched it happen plainly with her eyes, and she wouldn’t soon forget.

“After this is over, I plan to keep it that way if that’s all right with you.” Clarke took Lexa’s hand that was already in hers and brought it to her lips. Lexa watched with wide, awed eyes as she pressed a lingering kiss against her palm.

She settled closer against Lexa and relaxed, enjoying the feel of their closeness. It was something she’d never let herself enjoy often enough before, but now it just felt right. The day might be a lost cause, but Clarke wasn’t going to waste a minute of whatever time she had like this, borrowed or not.

Lexa didn’t leave right away, and Clarke suspected that with the orders already issued for the blockade, there wasn’t much business left to discuss with her ambassadors. They were likely all gossiping amongst themselves about Clarke’s outburst anyway, probably thinking her completely unhinged. She couldn’t find the energy to worry about it, knowing that the day would reset itself tomorrow. For now, her chief concern was enjoying Lexa’s company as long as possible.

“Clarke?” Lexa asked sometime later, small and hesitant. Her body tensed slightly.

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, when you said you came from my bed, you mean we…?” She trailed off, and even in the dim lighting of the prison cell, Clarke could tell that her cheeks were dark red.

She nodded, understanding the unspoken question and trying to ignore the fluttering inside her stomach at the reminder. “Three times.”

“Oh.” Lexa stared diligently at her feet and cleared her throat. “So… when we… was I…”

Clarke had never seen her so flustered, and the sight was amusing. “Are you asking if I enjoyed myself?” she teased.

Lexa nodded stiffly, too overcome with nerves to trust her own voice.

“Do you really think there would have been a second and third time if I hadn’t?”

The commander swallowed thickly, and Clarke swore she could hear her heart hammering wildly against her chest. She grinned, relating to the feeling easily. She’d known how Lexa felt of course, but it felt nice to have those feelings validated and returned in another version of reality. It was confirmation to Clarke that whatever feelings they’d acknowledged on their original Ascension Day had been there long, long before.

If she was going to keep facing their deaths until she solved their predicament, she would need all the reassurance she could get.


	5. Chapter 5

Adhering to Lexa’s suggestion turned out to be much harder than Clarke expected. Though it killed her—in more ways than one—she’d stuck to the plan: Relive the first Ascension Day as she’d originally done without interference, observe, and figure out what critical piece of information she was missing.

Titus had shot her another four times by accident—although she tried, she couldn’t duplicate her exact maneuvers—and he’d shot Lexa another three times. On the two occasions Clarke managed to escape, she’d met her end by running into Enar’s waiting arms.

For all of Clarke’s troubles, she’d arrived at three main realizations.

First, with each passing day, Clarke’s hatred for Titus grew beyond the realm of human possibility.

Second, she was developing a very real aversion to guns. Their sound and image were now synonymous with death. Any idiot could kill with one—accidentally or not—and as a result, Clarke wasn’t completely sure she wanted to carry one ever again.

But what stunned Clarke most was her third revelation: her growing irritation with her people.

A tiny portion of each day was spent arguing with Octavia, and while her apparent indifference to Skaikru’s crimes were bothersome, most of Clarke’s irritation came from those far away from Polis. Every day she’d hear the recount of her people’s crimes, from Semet’s account of them storming their village armed to teeth unprovoked, to the other witnesses of the first attack from the clearing.

After bullets rained down on the unsuspecting Trikru camp, onlookers within a half mile radius came rushing over to see the source of the commotion. There were ten Skaikru who walked among the field of the wounded. They went up and down the field in rows, executing every last man and woman still breathing, save for one. All bullets straight to the head.

Bellamy had been among them, as had Monty’s mother. It was difficult to cleanse the images from her mind, and it made Clarke nauseous.

The actions were pointless, she knew. Clarke had worked tirelessly for peace since she’d been in Polis, and ever since Lexa ousted Nia from Azgeda, silencing the last of her would-be dissenters and reaffirming Skaikru’s place in the coalition, her people had security. Peace had been theirs until Pike and Bellamy led their gunners out for a massacre. It completely fell apart after their unjustified invasion of a nearby village.

And for what exactly?

Land? Greed? Unfounded fear of the grounders, who’d always been considered by some sky people to be primitive savages?

Their line of reasoning made absolutely no sense.

Clarke knew the grounders, had come to consider herself as one of them, the coalition notwithstanding. Each day she heard these stories, her embarrassment for her people grew, and along with it, her anger. Whatever qualms she’d initially had about the blockade were completely vanished. She relished the thought of Pike and his crew being cast out from Arkadia and banished.

She sat patiently in her designated spot, the sound of Semet’s word’s idly registering in Clarke’s mind. She’d heard them all before, along with Lexa’s announcement of the blockade, the ensuing argument—

Semet attempted to attack Lexa again, and Clarke looked pointedly away as Titus came swooping in to provide the effortless kill stroke, trying to avoid the hot ball of rage gathering in her stomach at the sight of him. Her gaze fell to Indra, who was watching it all with an aghast expression.

In all the variations of Ascension Day, Clarke had only had one meaningful conversation with the woman. She’d brought to light some uncomfortable truths, and seeing her with her shoulder wrapped uselessly in a sling made Clarke think of the massacre she’d endured. Now the woman was watching the perpetrators get leniency in the name of “jus drein nou jus daun.”

Clarke hadn’t spent much time in Arkadia. The enigma of Pike’s rise to power baffled her, and while she knew that more rational minded people like Kane and her mother still fought against his regime, there were a significant number in agreement with his platform. How would they respond after the grounders forcibly deposed their leader?

If past history was any indication, it would end with more bloodshed. More senseless violence perpetuated by Skaikru. More discord between the clans, and more strain within the coalition, threatening to break apart everything Lexa painstakingly built. Their goal ultimately wasn’t peace, and the vicious cycle would never end.

The clans would never have peace. Skaikru would never have peace. Clarke and Lexa would never have peace.

The sudden realization gave Clarke an idea. For the first time in just over a week, she dared to disturb the loop she was stuck inside. Unlike her previous plans, which had been reactionary, thoughtless impulses, the beginnings of a much larger plan were starting to shape in Clarke’s mind.

After the leaders and ambassadors filed out of the throne room, Clarke left. She ignored Octavia’s beckoning glances. Today, Clarke decided she wasn’t going to entertain the girl’s complaints or try to appease her frustration.

Long strides took her to Lexa’s room, and raised voices sounded from behind the door. Clarke heard an unintelligible muttering from Titus, then a loud, shocking outburst from Lexa.

“I am more than capable of separating feelings from duty!”

Clarke froze with her hand hovering over the door handle.

The room behind the door suddenly quieted, and figuring that now was as good a time as any, Clarke turned the handle and pressed inside, and two sets of eyes landed on her instantly. Titus registered shock before his face contorted into a look of pure disgust. Lexa’s bunched muscles relaxed instantly, the vein bulging against her temple vanished, and the wrinkle of her brow loosened.

They stared at each other awkwardly. The silence drew on, and Clarke could hear the blood rushing behind her ears.

“Is something wrong, Clarke?” Lexa asked kindly. She sounded like a different person. Her voice was so soft, so careful compared to the one she’d heard a moment a moment ago.

Clarke took a deep breath and ignored the nervous pounding of her heart. Unlike the previous days, if she was going to enact her plan, she didn’t have time to explain herself to Lexa. “I want you to call off the blockade against Arkadia,” Clarke blurted. Titus’s jaw clenched, and he looked like the only thing keeping him from attacking Clarke was Lexa standing beside him.

“Clarke, if I don’t do _something_ , the ambassadors will send—”

Clarke ignored this. “I want a war against Arkadia. Tomorrow.”

Lexa gaped at her. Meanwhile, Titus now looked as if he wanted to jump in celebration, and Clarke was tempted to punch him in the face again. Instead, she squeezed her hands together at her sides. Once Lexa recovered from the initial surprise, she regarded Clarke with a wary expression.

“And what about peace?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Was ‘jus drein nou jus daun’ all for nothing?”

“This isn’t about repaying blood for blood. This _is_ about peace,” Clarke emphasized. There hadn’t been much time to fully reflect on it, but she’d spent a lot of time unconsciously realizing it.

“A few days ago, we decided that destroying Arkadia was off the table. Why the sudden change?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” It wasn’t a fair question because Clarke already knew the answer. What they had went far beyond mere trust, but she wasn’t going to admit that under Titus’s annoyingly watchful gaze. “I need you to do this. For my people… and for yours too.”

Lexa shifted her jaw, her eyes searching Clarke for any signs of hesitation. “Are you sure this is want you want Clarke?”

Clarke nodded. “Send Octavia and Indra back to Arkadia tonight. Have Murphy go with them… I’m sure Pike will want to debrief him, and the distraction will give them a chance to get inside.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you send people inside just before an army would attack?”

“To give the innocent people a chance to surrender. Not everyone at the Ark is beyond saving. A lot of them were happy to be a part of the alliance, and they deserve a chance before they pay for Pike’s mistakes,” Clarke explained. Another thought came to her, remembering the path Octavia was going to use to sneak them inside the camp. “There’s a tunnel by the Ark that leads north. We could have a team waiting for them to lead them to safety.”

Lexa considered this for a minute. “I’m sorry, but… who is Murphy?” She blinked several times like she was trying to place the name in one of her memories. It was all for naught because Clarke knew they’d never actually met.

“One of my friends. He was captured and brought to Polis for stealing, but he never actually got a trial,” Clarke said before turning a glare toward the man standing next to them. “I think Titus can tell you exactly where he is.”

Titus’s brows shot up in the air, and his mouth dropped open slightly, lips moving like he wanted to speak although no words came out. He glanced back and forth between Clarke’s glower and Lexa’s dawning realization, looking guilty. Clarke wasn’t supposed to know Murphy was in his custody, and he couldn’t fathom how she’d discovered his secret.

Watching the flamekeeper squirm gave Clarke an odd sense of satisfaction. He tried to appear dignified under Lexa’s disapproving stare, but as her neck muscles flexed and she leaned toward him threateningly, nostrils flared, he shrank back.

Lexa’s tone was not kind when she finally spoke to him again. “Make yourself useful. Fetch the boy, and go find Indra and Octavia.” Then, a deep breath. “Send riders. Tell them I call upon the armies of the twelve clans. This time tomorrow, we lay waste to Arkadia.”

For the first time in a while, Clarke actually trusted Titus to carry out Lexa’s orders without hesitation. Despite his shame, the satisfaction he’d gotten when Clarke had asked for the attack was giving her second thoughts.

He was getting his war after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Titus finally left them alone, all of Lexa’s pretenses fell away. Her rigid, intimidating posture slackened, and she just looked tired. Confused. Clarke followed her around the corner. Lexa paused by her bed, considered sitting for a moment, but turned to look at Clarke instead.

Clarke just wanted to kiss away the worry lines from the corners of her eyes. “Thank you for trusting me,” she said.

Lexa nodded. For a long time, her trust for Clarke had been freely given. “Please just tell me that you know what you’re doing. If this goes badly—”

“It won’t,” Clarke interrupted.

Or rather, if it did go badly, she was pretty sure she’d get another chance when she woke up tomorrow, and Lexa would be none the wiser. The thought of that possibility tired her.

Clarke wasn’t bothered by physical exhaustion—she’d been well attended to the entire time she’d in Polis—but her mind was ready for a break. While the commander had been busy holding together a coalition that seemed desperate to implode on itself, Clarke had been reliving the worst memories of her life over and over again.

If she hadn’t disagreed with every fiber of her being, Clarke would have thought the universe was conspiring against her and Lexa finding peace together.

“When we went to the Skaikru camp, we both agreed that blood must not have blood. When Emerson was delivered to face justice, we both agreed that blood must not have blood. And now, less than a week later, you’ve decided to go back on your decision.” Lexa’s voice was resigned, though not angry. She said it as matter-of-factly as if she’d simply been commenting on the weather. “Something must have happened.” Her green eyes met Clarke’s knowingly, waiting for an answer without even asking a question.

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time,” Lexa said. “The clans won’t be ready to march out with their full armies until tomorrow afternoon. It will take longer than a day to move so many warriors.”

 _Time_. Clarke inwardly cringed at the reminder.

Every time she passed through the loop, she’d only become more aware of how much time with Lexa she’d wasted. She’d always kept her comfortably at arm’s length, too wrapped up in her anger and denial to acknowledge that something deeper had been there all along.

Now, there was no need for Clarke to race back to Arkadia. There was no _one hour_ to say her goodbyes. Morning would come—Clarke didn’t yet know what form it would take—but for now, this time was _theirs_. Nobody was trying to kill them, Octavia and Indra would soon be on their way back to Arkadia, and the ambassadors would be pleased to eliminate the rebellious faction threatening all of their people.

The sunlight beamed brightly through the latticework in the windows. The angles of the rays were less severe, and Clarke could tell it was at least several hours earlier than she usually would meet with Lexa. Barring interruptions, they had all day and all night to talk about what had happened. She wasn’t in a hurry to tell the story again, not when it was riddled with so much death and pain. There were more pressing matters on Clarke’s mind at the moment.

“I promise to tell you everything. The whole story,” Clarke assured her. “But first, I have a better idea.”

“And what would that be?” Lexa asked, genuinely curious. She missed the flirting in Clarke’s voice.

But when Clarke kissed her, the whole world seemed to stop spinning for an instant, and time stood still with it. Lexa gasped, but immediately returned the kiss in kind. At Clarke’s insistent nudge, she let herself be led back to the bed with hooded eyes, pulse raging wildly at her neck.

They had time now, plenty of it. There was no need to hurry, no need to adhere to a deadline. Their kisses lingered, slow and deep, and as they helped rid each other of their clothes, they took their time, enjoying the sights and sensations fully.

For Clarke, it felt inevitable and _right_ in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. For Lexa, it was nothing short of a revelation. Tears started in her eyes, which didn’t disappear until she’d worked herself on top of Clarke,

There was a war on the horizon, and they planned to face it together, but today…

Today was all theirs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Candles flickered their warm light throughout the bedroom, flames dancing as a gentle breeze filtered through the window fittings. The sun had vanished hours ago, taking with it the last remnants of Clarke and Lexa’s energy.

At some point, Clarke had lost track of how many times Lexa brought her to climax, and how long they’d spent in bed. In their distraction, they’d bypassed lunch and dinner, and neither of them seemed to care much. Lexa’s backside was pressed against Clarke’s breasts and hips, and that was all that mattered for now.

Clarke let her fingertips trail softly down the length of Lexa’s arm, tracing the edge of her tattoo. She remained still, and her breaths were slow and steady. Clarke thought Lexa was asleep until she let out a sigh of approval. The sound made Clarke’s lips stretch into a wide smile. She pressed another languid kiss against the curve of Lexa’s neck, swirling her tongue lightly over the smooth skin.

Lexa twisted to face her, their legs tangling together beneath the furs. She beamed back at her, and Clarke wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her so happy before.

“If we keep going, I’m not going to have any strength left for tomorrow, Clarke,” Lexa teased, though there was a hint of truth in her words. Her hand dropped down to the space between them and rested at Clarke’s waist. “The clan leaders would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Relax,” Clarke grinned at her. “I won’t let them impugn your authority.”

“Hmm.” The promise seemed good enough for Lexa. She cuddled closer against Clarke’s body, nudging forward until they were sharing the same pillow. Their legs, arms, chests, and foreheads touched, and their breaths mixed together. It was hard to tell where Clarke ended and Lexa began. It felt indescribably perfect.

“I love you,” Clarke confession came out in a barely audible whisper.

The unexpected statement made Lexa’s breath catch in her throat, and Clarke could feel how hard her heart was beating where their bodies were pressed together. She stared back at Clarke, full of hope, yet not quite believing her ears.

“I love you too,” she replied, slightly breathless.

Clarke had known, of course. Still, finally hearing the admission was an enormous weight off her shoulders. She closed the tiny space between them, enjoying the feel of Lexa’s pliant lips against hers.

Lexa pulled away before Clarke had the chance to deepen the kiss. “You still owe me a story,” she said, grinning. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten.”

Unlike Lexa, Clarke _had_ nearly forgotten. After everything that had happened—Clarke loving Lexa, Lexa loving Clarke—it had seemed decidedly less important. But the way Lexa was looking at her, she couldn’t help but oblige her request.

“Well…” Clarke started. “It’s kind of a ridiculous story…”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke woke to a familiar warmth and comfort, snuggled deep into soft furs. She felt surprisingly well rested despite the soreness, the source of which was a mystery to her.

She stretched her body to ease her muscles. As her limbs flexed, she bumped against a warm body nestled behind her, still fast asleep. Lexa’s unmistakable grunt of protest fell on Clarke’s ears. Her arm involuntarily wound across Clarke’s front, pulling her more closely against her own body. Her sleepy breaths tickled against the back of her neck.

Clarke froze. Her heart skipped about five beats, then as if to make up for it, started racing in double time.

Lexa was in bed behind her. Lexa was naked. Lexa and Clarke were in bed _together_ where they’d fallen asleep the night before.

Clarke smiled until her cheeks hurt, and couldn’t stop the relieved laugh that bubbled to her throat. Her body shook, and tears stung her eyes—big, wet, happy tears that she couldn’t control if she tried.

The tremors from Clarke’s body woke Lexa not long after. She stirred, and her hand searched blindly for Clarke’s. When she’d found it and linked their fingers together, she started pressing light kisses against her bare shoulder.

“Good morning, Clarke.”

She used her free hand to wipe at her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile from her face. When she rolled over, Lexa was propped on her elbow, leaning over her. Her dazzling smile fell the moment she spotted Clarke’s red eyes and wet eyelashes.

“You’ve been crying,” Lexa said, sounding hurt. The answering smile she got from Clarke should have relieved Lexa, but she was still watching Clarke uncertainly.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” Clarke assured her. She leaned up to press a light kiss to Lexa’s nose. It helped the commander relax a little. “I did it, Lexa. I broke the loop,” Clarke beamed.

She’d told Lexa the entire crazy story before they’d both fallen asleep. Lexa trusted her—of course she had—so she understood that it was a big deal to Clarke. Lexa just didn’t see how any of it related to her.

For her, nothing was different. She’d woken up on Ascension Day and had fallen to sleep next to the woman she loved. Clarke on the other hand… She’d endured just about every excruciating permutation that Ascension Day had to offer.

“Let me offer you my sincerest congratulations.” Lexa finally relaxed, letting her body weight rest against Clarke. “I never once doubted you.”

“I think I have a theory.”

“About?”

“This,” Clarke gestured around them with her free hand. “What started the loop. What broke it.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know what caused the loop.”

“I had a lot of time to think last night. I was afraid to go to sleep,” Clarke admitted. “I didn’t want the day to end… you know… in case…” Now that she’d broken the loop, she thought one of her late night theories might have been right.

Lexa nodded her understanding. “So what do you think?”

“The flame activated shortly after I was made flamekeeper. Ontari was trying to ascend, and I know at some point, she would have tried to steal the flame for herself. I didn’t even know how to activate the flame at that point.” Clarke shook her head, remembering how frightened and confused she’d been when the chip burst to life in her hands and destroyed itself in the process. “I think after you died, the flame chose the most worthy commander.”

“You think the commander’s spirit did this?” Lexa stared incredulously at her.

“It’s more than just a spirit,” Clarke said. She remembered a conversation she’d had with Murphy while they’d been help captive in her room. Clarke remembered it because it allowed her to focus on something—anything—other than the bloodstained sheets in the middle of the room. “It’s technology, Lexa. It learns from you.”

Lexa frowned, not sure how to take the information. Clarke knew the idea of a spiritual succession had been ingrained in her mind since her childhood, but the reality was far more muddled. The second generation chip in her neck was supposed to learn about humanity—the full spectrum of human emotion—to replace the defective first generation AI that was slowly taking over their people.

Clarke didn’t know if there was another nightblood on this earth who had the depths of emotion Lexa did. If the flame wanted to fulfill its purpose, the best commander to learn from was Lexa, hands down.

“I think the flame considered your spirit the most worthy to be the commander, even after your death,” Clarke continued her explanation. “And since I was the flamekeeper, it was my job to make sure you were able to continue your commandership.”

“You said that we escaped once, that neither of us died,” Lexa reminded her.

“We did once,” Clarke nodded. “But days, weeks, months later—if things fell apart with Skaikru after we overthrew Pike, the clans would revolt against you. There had to be a more permanent solution. There had to be justice.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow at her. “Justice. That’s what today is about?”

Clarke thought about the coming fight against Arkadia. She knew which side she would be standing on. Her people, those left in Skaikru who were interested in peace and honoring the alliance, would be far away from the action by the time the battle began.

She leaned up and gave Lexa another kiss. “That’s exactly what this is about.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two horses led the procession of the Trikru army behind them. It was just one of twelve armies that would be converging on Arkadia today, and the soldiers marching were excited to finally avenge the deaths of their friends.

Clarke and Lexa were at a considerable distance from the others on foot behind them. There were archers flanked wide at the edges of their formation to take down any shooters hiding in the trees, though nobody expected Skaikru to take their fight to the woods. It wasn’t their element. They would barricade themselves inside the Ark as long as possible, only leaving to fight once they’d been flushed out or the battle was soon to be lost.

“Are you having any doubts?” Lexa asked. Their horses were walking so closely that their feet in the stirrups regular bumped against each other. Clarke liked the brief contact, finding the constant reminder of Lexa’s presence reassuring.

They were far enough away from the others that a quiet conversation wouldn’t be overheard, and Clarke suspected that was why she broached the topic in the first place. Lexa watched her carefully, one hand holding the reins to her horse, and the other resting atop the hilt of her sword.

“No doubts.” Clarke adjusted the strap to the armor plate over her shoulder. “Just… Questions.”

“Such as?”

Clarke knew some of her friends would be in the group that stayed behind to fight. The thought horrified her, though she’d made her peace with it. She just wanted to know what would happen to them if they survived the battle and lost.

“If anyone is left alive at the Ark after the battle is over—if they surrender,” Clarke clarified, “what happens to them?”

Lexa watched her carefully. She knew what her people would want: an execution. She also didn’t know if that was entirely necessary, and she knew that Clarke would be vehemently against it. “What do you think should happen to them?”

“I don’t think we should tie them up to a tree and cut them until they bleed out,” Clarke said.

Lexa gave her a small smile. She’d been right. “No, I don’t suppose that would be necessary. But it is a good point. If the purpose of this mission is to exact justice, those responsible, even if they’ve surrendered, must face punishment.”

“We could banish them, like Emerson.”

Lexa considered this for a moment. “That could work. What would you think about a more long-term solution?”

Clarke blinked several times, uncomprehending. “Like what?”

“Your guns,” Lexa said. “I understand that your people have almost as many guns as people to wield them. They are an extravagance in warfare, and have proven to be irresponsible in times of peace.”

“So to demonstrate a commitment to peace, Skaikru destroys most, if not all of their weapons,” Clarke nodded. “That sounds reasonable to me.”

“You know I would still have to impose some kind of banishment, Clarke. The perpetrators of war crimes against our people can’t be allowed to walk freely among our lands. It would only invite future conflict.”

Clarke nodded. She doubted Jasper, Bellamy, Monty, Harper, and the others would take the fight to the death, but it stung to think she would never see them again as part of their punishment.

“There are livable lands to the west of the Trishana clan,” Lexa said, continuing after Clarke’s silence. “There would be no rule against you or any of your people visiting the outlying territories, but I can’t let criminals roam freely in the clans. Not until we’ve had a chance to enjoy our new peace.”

The way Lexa said it sounded like the banishment may not be permanent after all. Everything depended on the clans. Even more fortuitously, Lexa had granted Skaikru permission to visit them, as long as they did so well beyond the Trishana borders.

“Thank you,” Clarke said, hoping it came across as sincerely as she meant it.

Lexa blushed and nodded. She clearly wasn’t used to being thanked for much, and it frustrated Clarke. Her ambassadors never appreciated how special she was or how great a visionary she was. Not even her advisor, who was supposed to know her best and support her through the difficult task of leading.

The thought of Titus brought with it a fresh round of annoyance. Clarke wouldn’t be able to deal with him by slugging him in the mouth anymore, and now that Lexa knew he’d colluded against her, Clarke wondered if he would face any repercussions for his actions.

“Have you given any thought to what you might so about Titus?” Clarke asked hesitantly. She wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate question to ask, and she nearly took it all back when she saw Lexa shift her jaw and clench her teeth together tightly.

“I have.”

Clarke waited some time before trying her luck. “And?”

“I think I will start training a new flamekeeper once I return to Polis.”

That came as a giant relief to Clarke, and from the tone of Lexa’s voice, she sounded relieved to end Titus’s threat as well. “Any prospects for a replacement?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I was considering Indra if she were willing to do it. With her injury, I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to fight like she used to, and she could easily keep the ambassadors in line. The natblidas already respect her.”

 _And she’s incredibly loyal_ , Clarke thought with approval. She smiled, not able to think of a better person to fill the role. Indra would consider it a great honor, and she’d be entirely deserving of it.

“I hope she accepts,” Clarke agreed. “I think she’s an excellent choice.”

They arrived outside Arkadia just past noon. Slowly, the other armies arrived to join them, and within hours, there were thousands of warriors gathered in the clearing outside the Skaikru camp, all itching for a fight.

They were still waiting for the Broadleaf clan to arrive when Octavia and another rider came galloping up on horseback. Some of the gonas readied themselves to strike them, but Lexa stopped them with a simple raise of her hand. Octavia nodded quickly at Clarke and dismounted in one smooth movement.

Clarke faltered when she saw that her mother was the other rider. Abby’s eyes sought her out instantly, though she was slower to arrive and clumsier to dismount. Clarke hopped off her horse to meet her, and Lexa followed close on her heels.

Abby met Clarke in a quick embrace, running her hands over her face and arms as if checking to make sure she was all right. Truthfully, it had been a long time since Clarke felt better, and Abby must have seen it too. She nodded her approval to Lexa, who’d come to stand by Clarke’s side.

“There’s about two hundred fifty left on the Ark,” Octavia said, purely business like. Clarke was surprised to see that she was actually addressing Lexa directly. “We got a little over two thirds of our people to surrender.”

“Are any of them from Pike’s crew?” Lexa asked.

“The ones from the hundred who’d joined him all surrendered,” Octavia said. Clarke would tell that she was trying to control her emotions; Bellamy was clearly among them. “They’re all cuffed and gagged. They won’t be going anywhere soon.”

“Who is in charge?” Lexa asked.

“I am,” Abby answered, stepping forward. Clarke’s eyes widened. “Our group outside the Ark no longer recognizes Pike as chancellor. We held another vote, and I was elected as his replacement.”

Lexa and Abby watched each other carefully, each measuring up the other. Clarke’s eyes traveled back and forth between them. They were both headstrong, both full of conviction; Clarke only hoped they’d ease their mulishness around each other. Octavia appeared bored by the politics and was probably eager to return to Lincoln now that he was freed from his cell.

“Congratulations, Chancellor,” Lexa offered, much to Abby’s surprise. She extended her arm toward her, and after a moment of deliberation, Abby grasped it, accepting the cordial gesture.

Clarke sighed in relief. The last thing she needed were the two most important people to her hating each other. Based on the sordid history between Skaikru and the grounders, and more specifically with Lexa, Clarke hadn’t known how her mother would respond.

“My people and I appreciate your efforts toward building peace,” Lexa continued.

“Of course, Commander,” Abby replied tersely. “Clarke?” She looked expectantly toward her daughter as she returned to her horse, expecting her to follow on the return to Skaikru’s temporary camp.

Clarke shook her head. Even though the clans numbers to crush the last of Pike’s insurgents in less than an hour, Clarke wasn’t going to leave Lexa’s side today. She let her hand wander until her fingers grazed Lexa’s, linking them together for her mother, Octavia, and the rest of the world to see.

Abby stared at their joined hands with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mom,” Clarke told her. “I’ll be safe. When it’s over, I’ll come find you, okay?”

Abby looked like she might fall off her horse. When she swayed slightly, Lexa started to step forward, but the doctor quickly righted herself and recovered her composure.

“Go, be with your people,” Lexa told her. She smiled, noting the shocked—though not disapproving—look on Abby’s face. She continued, turning to look at Clarke: “Today is the first day of our new coalition.”

Clarke grinned.

Ascension Day had come and gone.

Now it was time for their brand new Unity Day.

  



End file.
